Sharp Edges
by Silent Number
Summary: As Carter's struggle to overcome his dark memories continues, Hogan faces the question of how far an officer should be prepared to go to protect his men. A sequel to "A Dark Night, Long Ago". Strong adult content, strong language, some violence.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes or any of the characters.

**November 1942. England.**

_If only it c__ould have rained like this three days ago_, thought Major Staller.

He hated the English rain. It set in with such stubborn persistence, and was so damned miserable. But it would have saved a lot of trouble, if only the weather had turned bad in time to prevent the bombing raid on Erfurt. Sure, that mission had gone okay, all the crews had returned safely. The problem had come up afterwards, when some of the airmen had wound down after their safe return. And Staller was going to have to fix that problem fast, before there could be any consequences.

He pulled into the hospital grounds, and parked as close as he could to the main entrance, but even so he was liberally splashed with rain by the time he reached the shelter of the reception area. He took off his cap, shook a few drops from his eyes, and smiled gravely at the nurse on the reception desk.

"Major Staller, 182 Squadron, to see Lieutenant Carter," he said. "I phoned the doctor this morning."

As usual - as he'd come unconsciously to expect - the nurse responded to his vague, undefined charm. "Certainly, Major," she replied. "The lieutenant is sleeping, but Doctor Ross said you could go in. Room 209, on the second floor."

She was a pretty girl. He would have liked to get better acquainted, but he would probably never see her again after today. Once he'd done what he had to, a line had to be drawn underneath the whole sorry affair. No loose ends could be left uncut, no matter how irrelevant or harmless they might seem.

He took the stairs slowly, thinking about what he had to say to the patient in room 209. He was confident he had the right angle worked out, given what he knew of Lieutenant Carter's personality. Not that that was much, Carter had only recently returned to the 182nd after escaping from a POW camp in Germany, and Staller hadn't seen much of him. But from what he'd been able to observe, he doubted Carter was anything more than he seemed: a straightforward, open young man who could surely be persuaded to listen to reason, one way or another.

Staller had no qualms about the course he was about to take. But as he entered the hospital room, he felt a pang of regret at the necessity. The patient appeared to be asleep, but so colorless was his face, in the pale grey light from the window, that he might have been beyond waking. He looked almost ridiculously innocent, but he'd already been through what nobody should have to endure.

It was a dirty business all through, and Staller's part in resolving it would leave him feeling contaminated. But the overall objective had to take precedence over individual cases. At all costs, the events of that night had to be kept under wraps, and to that end this man must be convinced, by whatever means were necessary, to keep quiet.

The major cleared his throat. "Lieutenant Carter? Are you awake?"

The only response was a slight tightening of Carter's forehead. He was awake, all right. Staller spoke more sharply. "Lieutenant, I know you can hear me. Please have the courtesy to give me your attention."

Several seconds passed before Carter turned his head slightly, and opened his eyes. He didn't look directly at the major, but at least he seemed to be listening. As Staller moved closer to the bed, he shrank away slightly.

"This is not an official visit, Carter," said Staller. "As I was passing near here on my way back from London, I thought I'd take the time to bring you up to date on your present situation. You're in quite a lot of trouble, Lieutenant."

A momentary look of uncertainty crossed Carter's face, and he glanced towards Staller for a second. His lips opened, then closed again, without speaking, but there was bewilderment in his eyes.

After a brief pause, Staller continued. "I'm afraid you will be facing disciplinary action, over your...let's say, disagreement with Captain Lewis."

"Disagreement...?" murmured Carter.

"Sounds better than _unprovoked attack_, which is how the witnesses described it. You will be required to face a court martial, in due course. I'm trying to arrange a bedside hearing, so we can clear the matter up as quickly as possible. I'm sure you want to put it behind you, and I know Lewis would prefer to get it out of the way so he can get back on duty." He waited for a response, but whether from confusion, or the natural reticence engendered by his ordeal, Carter seemed unable to answer.

"Now, I've been looking at your service record, Carter," Staller went on, "and up till now it's pretty well spotless. In view of that, you'll probably only get a minor penalty, if the court is convinced that you sincerely regret your mistake. A guilty plea might be considered proof of..."

"You gotta be kidding." Carter's voice, pitched low, was scarcely above a whisper.

Obviously he still had some spirit left in him. Staller pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking again. "Lieutenant, even allowing for your present condition, I'm not going to put up with any insubordination." Carter gave him a long, hostile look, then turned his eyes towards the window.

"It's your decision, Carter. But I strongly recommend you plead guilty." Staller turned as if to leave the room.

"Oh, there is one other matter I need to bring to your attention," he said, turning back as if it were an afterthought. It wasn't anything of the kind. He'd made the trip here on purpose to transact this part of the business. "There are a lot of rumors going round the squadron, rumors of a particularly distasteful nature."

He noted with professional satisfaction the dawning look of dread on Carter's face, as he realized just what the gossip around the base might be. This was going to be easier than Staller had anticipated.

"Of course, it's very unpleasant for Lewis, and for his crewmates as well, to be the target of that kind of filth. That's right, Carter. Not only are they accusing Lewis of indecency, they've dragged his whole crew into the story as well. And your name's been mentioned, too."

Carter caught his breath, and his eyes widened as he grasped what Staller meant. He tried to speak, but couldn't form a coherent word.

It was exactly what Staller was counting on. Even though Carter was entirely blameless in regard to whatever had happened that night - and Staller had heard some pretty horrific details which he had no reason to doubt - the last thing he would want was for the whole ugly story to get around. It was probable he wouldn't have talked anyway. But Staller couldn't take the chance. He had to give the blade a final twist, make sure the job was done.

"Now, I don't suppose for one minute you'd try to offer any defense based on that kind of hearsay," he went on. "But in case you had any ideas, I have to tell you we've already investigated the story, and there's no evidence that you were subjected to an assault of that nature. As far as the army is concerned, it didn't happen. So forget it."

He came right up to the bed, and leaned over the patient, who pressed himself back against the pillow, desperately trying to keep his distance.

"I'll make this as clear as I can, Carter," said Staller softly. "You try to make any kind of self-defense argument out of that dirty lie, and one of two things will happen. Either you'll be written off as a troublemaker, or people will start wondering whether you're as innocent as you look. There's some guys get their fun out of that kind of stuff, maybe you went looking for it. You understand what I'm saying?"

Carter understood. He turned his face away, his breath catching in his throat in harsh, irregular gasps. He looked as if he was about to be sick.

"I'm waiting for an answer, Lieutenant. Do you understand?"

It cost Carter an effort to reply. "Yes." Then, as Staller continued to wait, he managed a few more stammered words: "Yes, sir, I understand."

Staller straightened up. "As I said, this visit isn't official," he said. "So I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to anyone. But just keep that in mind, Carter. I'll be following your case with interest."

He kept his eyes on Carter for several seconds before leaving the room. He wasn't dissatisfied with the results of his visit. If Carter hadn't already been broken by what had been done to him, three nights before, the job was well and truly done now.


	2. Chapter 2

It all seemed such a long time ago, so long that Carter sometimes had trouble believing he had even existed before that night. In some way it seemed as if the Andrew Carter of distant memory had died, leaving an empty shell behind, something that looked and sounded like him, but had no real connection to the past.

The court martial, his loss of rank and transfer to another squadron - those events had passed by as if he was just watching them, as if they had nothing to do with him at all.

Somehow he'd started to function again. Never quite the same as he'd been before, always slightly out of kilter, but a reasonable working facsimile of himself, at any rate. And then he'd fallen into German hands a second time, and been sent to Stalag 13 to sit out the war as a prisoner.

Now here he was, on a fall afternoon long distant from that terrible night, loitering with a particular intent outside the barracks in the company of the senior Allied officer and a couple of the other prisoners.

"Okay, there's our boy," said Colonel Hogan. "LeBeau, Carter, go for the intercept."

As Sergeant Schultz traipsed across the compound, Carter and LeBeau set off, arguing volubly. Their path crossed Schultz's in the middle of the yard, where they came to a halt, both talking at once, neither of them listening to the other.

"Carter, LeBeau, what is going on?" Schultz, lumbering heavily towards them, seized LeBeau's shoulder and gave him a shake, not too hard. Both the prisoners ignored him.

"And I'm telling you, Himmler wouldn't make it. He doesn't wear those glasses just for show, he can't see past his own nose without 'em," said Carter.

"So he would keep them on," LeBeau shot back. "There's no reason why he shouldn't."

"While he's swimming? Yeah, sure, that'd work. He wouldn't get twenty yards out."

"And you think Goering'd get that far?"

"Look, LeBeau, it's a well-known fact. Fat floats. Course, he could get mistaken for a whale, but..."

"Quiet!" bellowed Schultz. Then, as LeBeau and Carter turned to stare at him, he went on, "Now, please tell me what you are arguing about. One at a time!" he added, as they both started at once. "Carter, you tell me."

"Well, gee, Schultz, we were just trying to work out, if Hitler ordered all his top brass to swim the English Channel, which one would get farthest before he drowned," replied Carter. "And LeBeau thinks..."

Schultz interrupted quite brusquely. "That is a very stupid thing to waste your time with," he said, glaring severely at the pair. Then, after pausing for deep thought, he added, "It would be Admiral Dönitz, of course. He is a naval man, so naturally..."

Carter had already collapsed into helpless laughter, but LeBeau stayed serene, regarding Schultz with an indulgent smile. "Isn't that sweet, Carter? He thinks sailors can swim."

This was a pretty standard diversionary tactic, they'd been doing this sort of thing since before Carter had joined the team. Like most of their work, it had its risks, but he'd soon gotten the hang of it, and he'd found this new life easier to deal with, somehow, than what he'd left behind.

He hadn't thought it possible, when he first arrived after being captured. He'd been a prisoner of war before, he knew what to expect, and he was utterly terrified, but not of the Germans. Rational thinking, which told him he had nothing to fear from his fellow inmates, had no chance. The only thing which could override the pure physical terror of the situation was an even greater dread. Those few words Major Staller had spoken in the hospital had done their work, and Carter would have endured anything rather than have anyone suspect what had happened.

So he kept quiet, learning to live under conditions of intimacy which almost drove him insane with fear, even allowing physical contact when he had to, forcing himself to stay awake at night in case some nightmare caused him to cry out in his sleep. It wasn't easy, but it hadn't taken long for Colonel Hogan to bring him into the undercover operation that ran from the camp, which at least gave him something to work at, to keep the dark thoughts at bay.

Gradually, he found he could trust his fellow prisoners. Gradually, he started to feel safe.

Then one of his attackers turned up at Stalag 13, and Carter went to pieces all over again.*

It had almost ended in disaster, but he'd gotten through it. Hogan had put him back to work pretty quickly, and for the next couple of weeks he didn't allow himself much leisure, or for that matter much sleep. But at least he was still part of the team. Of course, every time a new prisoner arrived, or a batch of customers for the Travelers' Aid part of the operation came in, his anxiety level went stratospheric, but he managed to keep that to himself.

"He seems to be doing okay, Colonel," observed Kinch, as the distraction of Schultz continued.

Kinchloe was one of only two men in camp with whom Hogan could freely discuss Carter's progress. The story had been contained, and apart from Hogan, only two of the other prisoners knew what had happened back in England. Sergeant Mills had learned about it during his own time at the 182nd, Kinch had discovered it by accident.

Hogan leaned against the door frame, watching the conversation. "He looks okay," he murmured. "But I'm not sure." He fell silent, his eyes on Carter.

"I'll tell you something, Kinch," he said, after a while. "The first time we took him back out, I was worried. I wasn't sure he'd make it. But it went without a hitch, everything was perfect. When that munitions train went up, it was just beautiful. And Carter...he looked as if he'd suddenly found himself safe at home after he'd given himself up for lost. I really thought he was going to be alright."

"He's getting there. He just needs a bit more time. It's not even a month since Jackson was here."

"Yeah, I know." Hogan continued to watch the conversation across the compound, his eyes narrowed against the bright afternoon light.

"There," he said suddenly. "Did you see that?"

It was fleeting, it scarcely lasted a second. But something had happened. Some momentary change of expression had flickered across Carter's face.

"I didn't see anything," replied Kinch. Then, after several seconds, he added, "He's not saying much now, is he?"

"He's not saying anything," said Hogan. "He's leaving everything to LeBeau."

His gaze flickered towards the Kommandant's office, catching the swift movement as Newkirk slipped out of the building and strolled over to join his pals. Carter took no further part in the debate, which continued for only a minute or so longer, before Schultz, with a dismissive gesture, went on his way.

It didn't seem much. But in the course of that conversation, outside Hogan's hearing, something had thrown Carter off balance. Whatever Schultz had said, it had hurt.

Perhaps Kinch was right, and Carter just wasn't ready yet. But the war wasn't going to wait for him. Hogan had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but the cold, callous fact was, Carter had no choice but to get over it. If he didn't then his part in the war effort might be finished.

* * *

*A Dark Night, Long Ago


	3. Chapter 3

Newkirk was wearing a self-satisfied smirk as he returned to the barracks with LeBeau and Carter just behind.

"Got it?" asked Hogan.

"Piece of cake, Colonel," replied Newkirk complacently. "The fake report's in the safe, the real one's in my pocket."

"Okay, let's go to my office and have a look." Hogan glanced at Carter, but the mask had already gone back up, and there was no sign of anything wrong, other than a slightly distracted air.

Once they were safely inside, Newkirk produced several sheets of thin paper.

"Well, whoever the mole is, he's pretty well placed," said Hogan, perusing the typed pages. "He's got the names of half the Underground members between Düsseldorf and the French border, locations of weapons stores, safe houses, details of recent operations...for what it's worth, there's nothing about Stalag 13. I suppose that makes sense," he went on thoughtfully. "He'd hardly be using Klink as an intermediary if he knew about us, would he?"

"Let's be honest, Colonel. He's got to be pretty bleedin' thick to use Klink anyway," remarked Newkirk, squinting at the page over Hogan's shoulder.

Hogan grinned. "Don't underestimate the Kommandant, Newkirk. He's done more for the Allied war effort than the War Bonds Commission." He folded the report, and passed it to Kinch. "This guy isn't local," he said. "The whole report is on Düsseldorf, and the area around it. So why's he come so far out of his own area to pass the information?"

"Wants to avoid arousing suspicion, maybe," suggested Kinch.

"Could be. Better get word to London, Kinch. They'll need to take action on it, since it's not in our area. Unless any of you want the excuse to get away from Stalag 13 for a few days?"

"What? And leave all this?" Newkirk shook his head. "No, thanks, Colonel. Not that I don't appreciate the thought, but Düsseldorf's hardly my idea of a holiday destination. When you want someone to go to Brighton, mind..."

"You'll be the first man I call on," replied Hogan.

He dismissed them, but as they left, he called Carter back. There was additional business that could only be discussed in private. Hogan waited till the door had closed behind the others before he spoke.

"How are you getting on, Carter?" he asked.

Carter met his gaze with what looked like perfect candor, which was suspicious in itself. "Fine, Colonel. Everything's going fine."

"Uh-huh." Hogan paused, regarding Carter intently. "What happened out there just now?"

For a few seconds, Carter held his gaze, then his eyes dropped. "You noticed, huh?"

"Yep."

Carter shrugged uneasily, his color rising. "It's no big deal, Colonel. Schultz said something, that was all."

"You going to tell me what he said?"

"Nothing. I mean, he didn't mean anything," said Carter quickly. "I didn't ought to let it get to me. I won't let it happen again, sir, I promise."

"Was it something to do with Jackson?" Hogan persisted. He doubted it, it didn't sound like Schultz. He was tactless, and not particularly bright, but never malicious. Anyway, since officially Jackson had been shot while trying to escape, none of the guards ever mentioned him.

Carter shook his head, and looked up briefly. "Can't we just let it go, Colonel? I just got distracted for a second. It wasn't even anything important, it was just stupid." But his eyes turned to the floor again. Whatever Schultz had said, intentional or not, it had struck a sore point somewhere.

Hogan weighed up the situation. "Carter, level with me. Do you need a break from active duty?"

"No. Please, Colonel." The words broke out apparently against Carter's will, and for a second he looked as if he regretted it. After a moment he went on. "It's not so good when I got nothing to do. I start thinking, and...and it's just not good."

"I get that, Carter," replied Hogan slowly. "But I've got to take other things into consideration. You dropped the ball today, but it was only Schultz, so it didn't matter. What if it happens again? What if it happens when you're out on assignment?"

Carter flushed. "It won't." He hesitated for a moment, then added tentatively, "Colonel, I've been doing really dumb things ever since I got here. The only reason you're making such a big deal about it now is because...because you know some stuff now that you didn't before." He finished in a rush.

For half a minute, Hogan didn't say anything. Carter had a point there. It was nothing new for him to mess things up, and in the overall scheme of things, such a minor dereliction hardly rated a mention. It wasn't his moment of inattention that was the problem, but rather what might lie behind it.

There was still a lot Hogan didn't know about what had actually happened at the 182nd. He'd heard only as much as Mills had been able to report, and that was limited to what had been common knowledge around the squadron at the time. Only Carter had the whole picture, and even now, he wasn't talking. There was no saying when he might stumble into some unsuspected pitfall of conscious or unconscious memory.

Still, Hogan had to admit to himself that it was only because of what had recently come to light that he was entertaining any concerns. Two months ago, he'd have given Carter a reprimand, and then it would have been business as usual. In real terms, nothing should have changed.

"Okay," said Hogan at last. "But if it happens again, we'll have to reconsider. I can't have our operations compromised. For now, you can concentrate on demolition work. That should keep you busy enough."

"Yes, sir." Carter hung his head, whether from embarrassment or distress was hard to tell. "Can I go now, sir?"

"Yeah. And take it easy, okay?"

Carter glanced up at him, started to speak, then thought better of it, and went off without saying anything. But there was a touch of exasperation in his face, and Hogan could hardly blame him for it. _Yeah, that's easy for me to say,_ he thought.

Most of the men were outside, as the weather, though cool, was fine. Only LeBeau remained in the barracks, preparing the evening meal, and he was too preoccupied to notice anything unusual. "Carter, you're not doing anything," he said. "You can peel the potatoes for me."

It was something to keep busy with, anyway. Carter sat at the table and set to work, while LeBeau gave the casserole on the stove a gentle stirring.

"What are we having?" he asked, to break the silence.

"_Boeuf proven__ç__ale, _Stalag 13 style." LeBeau gave a little shrug. "In other words, no red wine, no olives, no _lard fumé_, the tomatoes are barely fit for pig food, and the beef probably comes from a very old sheep."

"Sounds real good," murmured Carter, and LeBeau rolled his eyes. In fact, he was quite proud of himself. He'd almost pulled off a miracle, creating something appetizing from such miserable ingredients. It was a letdown to see Carter so indifferent about it.

Carter's thoughts were far away. He knew he should have come clean to the colonel. But even now there was a tiny but insistent doubt in his mind. When Schultz, in answer to some casual remark, had turned and said those words, almost the same words that had been spoken long before by Major Staller, that misgiving had suddenly blossomed.

_You'__re not as innocent as you look, Carter._

Staller had painted an ugly picture of what Carter could expect, if the truth ever came out. _Either you'll be written off as a troublemaker, or people will start wondering..._

Up till now there had been nothing in Hogan's manner to suggest that Staller's prediction was accurate. But Hogan was real good at covering up, maybe he had doubts, and was keeping them to himself. Or what if anyone else found out, and what if they thought...?

"Carter!" LeBeau's voice broke in on his abstraction. "What do you think you're doing?"

Carter, called back to awareness, looked at the potato in his hand, or rather, what was left of it. He'd peeled it down to almost nothing.

"Sorry," he stammered. "I got other things on my mind."

"While preparing food, you can think of other things?" LeBeau gave a contemptuous sniff. "It's no wonder there are no great chefs from your country." He shook his head, and went to check his seasoning, and Carter silently began on the next potato, paying strict attention to the task.

Now he had a new anxiety. If he was so messed up that he couldn't even peel potatoes properly, what chance did he have of continuing as part of the Stalag 13 operation? And if he wasn't able to do his job any more, what then?


	4. Chapter 4

Hogan kept a close eye on Carter in the days that followed. It seemed as if he had adapted fairly well to the new order of things, and resigned himself to being only involved in sabotage operations. There was plenty to keep him occupied there. In fact, he spent so much of his free time in the underground bomb-making workshop over the next two weeks that it turned into a standing joke. Newkirk greeted him at dinner one evening with a puzzled look. "I know you from somewhere, don't I? Don't tell me - you were in _Gone with the Wind,_ right? Or was it _King Kong_?"

"Very funny, Newkirk." Carter hunched his shoulders, scowling.

"Don't pay any attention to him," said LeBeau. "He's just playing games with you...uh...what was your name again?"

The other prisoners joined in the laughter, and even Carter smiled after a few moments. But he didn't say anything, and he disappeared below ground again as soon as he'd eaten.

"He's not talking much just lately, is he?" said Newkirk, once he'd gone. "Seems unnatural, somehow."

Kinch, heading down to the radio room, paused on his way down the ladder. "Just because you have to hear your own voice every minute, Newkirk, doesn't mean everyone else is the same. Carter's got a lot of work to do right now, it's probably on his mind."

"He's working too hard," put in LeBeau, as the tunnel entrance closed.

"You're right, LeBeau. It can't be good for him, you know, always being underground," remarked Newkirk. "He's starting to look right peaky, if you ask me. He needs to come outside a bit, get some fresh air and sunshine. It'll do him the world of good."

"Carter's fine," replied Hogan shortly.

"Begging your pardon, Colonel, but I don't think he is." Newkirk sat on the edge of the table in the middle of the barracks, and lit a cigarette. "It's not that I think work's a bad thing. You know what I say, anything in moderation, But there are limits, and I think Carter's getting pretty close to them. He's had his nose to the grindstone for weeks. Maybe it's time to ease up on him a bit."

There was a look of dissatisfaction on his face, which found a reflection in LeBeau's. Hogan bit back the retort that rose to his lips. Newkirk's argument had merit, which made it all the more annoying. Carter was pushing himself too hard, but it wasn't at Hogan's bidding. There was no need for it, even though the operation was increasing in activity as the war progressed. Right now immersing himself in work was just Carter's way of coping, and it seemed to be working. He'd been out on a handful of missions with the others, and no problems had arisen. In fact, he seemed rather more on the ball than usual, as if he felt he had something to prove.

Still, if the other guys were starting to ask questions, it was time to do something. They weren't stupid, these men of Hogan's, and sooner or later some of them were going to start making conjectures. In all justice, Carter should have no reason to feel ashamed of what he'd been through. But justice was in short supply in this situation, and that burden of shame still rested on him. If his fellow inmates started putting the pieces together, he was the one who'd end up suffering for it.

"Look, if it makes you all feel better, I'll tell him to take it easy for a few days," said Hogan at last. "And Newkirk - don't sit on the table, you're gonna break it one of these days. It's no wonder we can't have nice stuff."

He descended to the tunnel. Arriving at floor level, he found Kinch already in radio communication with headquarters in London. It was excuse enough to postpone the other matter for a few minutes.

The message was fairly lengthy, and Kinch's pencil flew over the paper as he transcribed. From the tightening of his lips and the set of his brow, he didn't like the content. He finished, transmitted an acknowledgement, tore off the page and handed it to Hogan.

"They don't want much, do they?" he said.

Hogan read through the communication with no change of expression. "Well, we might have known they'd want us to take a hand in this one. We're already involved, we're the ones that intercepted the message from the informer."

"Yeah, I guess so. But if they think we can get to Düsseldorf..."

"It may not come to that. All they want is to try and tip off the Underground that they've got a security problem, and get their inside man out of there, in case the Krauts' informant exposes the whole operation. And they're sending one of their own guys over to deal with it. We'll just be providing support."

He handed the message back to Kinch. "Tell 'em to let us know the details. And see if they can send him over some night when we're not already doing something. We don't want him turning up with nobody available to bring him in."

"The appointment calendar's pretty full, Colonel," Kinch pointed out. "We're doubling up some nights anyway. But I'll see what I can do."

Hogan went on towards the workshop, but Carter wasn't there. It took a few minutes to find him, in the small but well-equipped laboratory which had been set up for him in one of the side tunnels. He wasn't working, but was sitting on a low stool, elbows on the workbench, reading. He looked up as Hogan came in.

"Hi, Colonel," he said. "Were you looking for me? You got something for me to do?"

"Yeah, Carter, and it's top priority." Hogan pulled up another seat, and sat down next to Carter. "What's that, your old pharmacy handbook? I thought you gave up on that."

"Found it when I was tidying up down here." Carter went red as he closed the book and pushed it aside. "It's just something to keep me busy, I guess."

"You still planning to take the exam when you get home?"

There was no immediate reply. Carter looked away for a moment, fidgeting a little. Newkirk was right, he did look below par, although it was hard to define in what way. After a bit, he changed the subject. "What's the job, Colonel?"

"Oh, it's an easy one. You're go up to the barracks, challenge someone to a game of draughts, play till lights out, and then get some sleep. I mean it, Carter," he went on, as Carter started to voice an objection. "You've been overdoing it the last couple of weeks, you need a break. And I'm the one getting the blame." He was pretty sure that argument would carry weight. "Not that I mind being seen as the bad guy, if it's in a worthwhile cause, but I don't think allowing you to work yourself into a breakdown comes under that classification."

Carter shifted uneasily. "Who's been saying anything about a _breakdown_?" he said, putting a scornful emphasis on the word. "What do you think, I can't handle the work, Colonel? Just because I slipped up one time, is no reason I have to be sidelined, is it?"

"Carter, it's not a question of that," said Hogan, startled at the vehemence of Carter's response. "You've been pretty much on your toes since then. The problem is the hours you're putting in. You know how it is, we all need our share of rest time. You keep this up, you're going to wear yourself out."

"I'm fine, Colonel. I get plenty of rest time." Carter read the skepticism on the colonel's face, and went on hurriedly. "I just spend it down here."

"Well, from now on you can spend it up there." Hogan spoke lightly, but there was a gleam in his eye, and a slight smile on his lips. For a few moments, Carter just looked at him, as if trying to assess how serious the orders were. Then he sighed, pushed himself up and headed off towards the ladder, and the barracks above.

Hogan remained where he was, his eyes on the little blue handbook Carter had left behind. He hoped it was an indicator. Carter had once mentioned his intention to study pharmacy, once he got back to the States.* If he still had such plans, it had to be a good sign. But just now he'd avoided the question. And there had been something in his eyes, when Hogan ordered him back to the barracks, something a few steps beyond trepidation in the direction of outright fear. And that opened up a whole new area of concern for Hogan.

Carter had never really talked about what had happened to him. But from the very little he'd said, Hogan knew that he'd arrived at Stalag 13 accompanied by a sense of deep, irrational terror. Apparently he'd gotten over it without help, and he had never shown any sign of being scared of company, even after Jackson's brief but eventful stint in camp. Now something really had him spooked.

What was he so frightened of? And what the hell could have happened to set it off? Only Carter knew the answer, and from the look of it, he was preparing to deal with it on his own, as he had before.

Unless it posed a threat to the operation, Hogan had no right to interfere. Neither as Carter's commanding officer, nor as a friend. But as he left the lab, he knew that consideration carried little weight with him.

They'd almost lost Carter once over this business. It wasn't going to happen again. Not if Hogan could help it.

* * *

*The Scientist


	5. Chapter 5

Just as Kinch had anticipated, the agent from London was scheduled to parachute in on a night when the team already had another job on.

"He's arriving the night after tomorrow," he said, discussing the matter in the barracks over a late meal. "LeBeau's out of the picture. Klink wants him to cook dinner for that old university buddy of his."

"I don't mind if I don't," LeBeau grumbled. "Every time he shows up, Klink wants me to make _Schweinebraten_ with cabbage. It's an insult."

"Maybe, but that pal of Klink's is pretty well placed in German intelligence, and he gets very chatty once they hit the third bottle of wine," replied Hogan. "And seeing he's the guy that picked up the last report from the mole in Düsseldorf, we're going to be interested in anything he has to say. So you'll just have to put up with being insulted." He frowned slightly as he considered the problem. "And that convoy with the new artillery cannon prototype is a three-man operation. Two to man the roadblock, and one to see to the charges."

There was a brief silence while he went through the options. Sending Kinch out meant leaving the radio unattended at night, which was never a good idea, and Hogan preferred not to send inexperienced operators out alone for meetings.

"Okay," he said at last. "Let's put Mills on the convoy job, with Newkirk and Carter. That leaves me free to meet this guy from London, and bring him inside. You okay with that, Mills?"

Mills nodded gravely. "As long as Carter and Newkirk are okay."

"Sure, no problem," replied Carter easily. He had complied with Hogan's order about not spending so much time underground, and he seemed a little less tense. But one never knew with Carter. He'd gotten so much into the habit of hiding his true feelings that sometimes he wasn't even sure himself what they were.

"Couldn't be happier, mate," said Newkirk. "And we'll let you off lightly, you can have the easy part - crawling under the trucks with the dynamite."

There was no change in Mills' expression as he replied, quite innocently. "Fine by me. After all, it wouldn't be right to let a man of your age..."

"Oi, watch it. Or I'll hit you with my walking stick." Newkirk wasn't that put out, Mills was scarcely three years younger than him.

It was only recently, since the Jackson incident in fact, that Mills had gotten comfortable enough among the other prisoners to join in the give and take of barracks life. Up until then he'd kept to himself, but the events of those few days had changed all that, at least as far as Hogan and his command team were concerned.* Generally anyone who was in with them was in with the whole barracks. For Mills it wasn't so easy, but in a quiet way he was starting to fit in with some of them, at least.

Hogan joined in the laughter that went round. "Careful, Mills. He's getting cranky in his old age. Kinch, get back to London, let them know we're okay for the rendezvous."

He went into his quarters, and Kinch went below to the radio room, while LeBeau and Carter began clearing the table. "Who's for a game of cards?" said Newkirk, producing the deck that was always somewhere about his person.

"I'll pass," murmured Carter. "It's my turn to do the dishes."

"I thought it was Newkirk's turn," put in LeBeau, stopping halfway to the sink with a load of tin plates.

"Well, I don't mind doing it," said Carter, with a glance at Newkirk. "Sure beats losing the rest of my Red Cross package to him."

About half the men joined in the game of poker, the rest were reading, doing odd repairs to clothing or just talking. A general buzz of low conversation rose and fell, the poker players adding to it between hands. But it was during one of the momentary lulls that a remark not meant to be generally heard drifted across the barracks:

"At least if he's out blowing up convoys, that's one night we all don't have to sleep with one eye open."

The lull extended into an apprehensive silence. Mills didn't bat an eyelid, but his color rose, and his lips tightened. The others in the game exchanged looks, some embarrassed, others slyly amused. LeBeau turned a black look on the speaker, but Newkirk just leaned back in his chair, as relaxed as if the man in question had passed an innocuous remark on the weather.

"Just as a matter of interest, Kellet, old chum," he drawled, "did that come out of your mouth, or your arsehole?"

"Leave it, Newkirk," muttered Mills. "Just leave it." But Kellet, a short, squat bruiser of a man, had already picked up the challenge.

"Just saying what everyone thinks, Newkirk," he replied, although he had also reddened. "Only nobody's game to say it out loud. But it's tough enough being stuck in a shithole like this without having to watch your back every second because there's a queer in the next bunk. If Hogan was any kind of officer, he'd have gotten rid of him months ago. Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

"Is that right?" murmured Newkirk. His eyes, half-closed, were suddenly very bright. His right hand still held his cards, but the left, resting on the table, had clenched till the knuckles went white.

"Boy, and people think I'm stupid. You're a real dumb jerk, Kellet. You're about as dumb as they come."

The low murmur that had broken out at Kellet's last remark died away in sheer amazement. Carter usually kept clear of altercations within the barracks, but Kellet had gone too far with that crack.

He knew it, and the mottled flush darkened on his face. "Keep out of it, Carter," he growled.

Before Carter could respond, Mills took over, prompted for once to answer back. "I wouldn't worry, if I were you, Kellet," he said, in a low, even tone. "You're perfectly safe. I draw the line at gutter scum."

It took Kellet a few seconds to take that in, and once he did, he moved fast. Newkirk was even faster, he just managed to head him off before he got to Mills, who had stood up, still holding his ground. But it took another two men to control the enraged Kellet, and he was still trying to get at Mills when Hogan burst out of his quarters.

"What the hell is going on out here?" the colonel demanded, almost as furious as Kellet.

"Nothing important, Colonel," replied Mills, still not moving, regarding his antagonist with narrowed eyes. "Kellet's just exercising his rights under the First Amendment, that's all."

Those standing closest to Hogan would have noticed the tightening of his shoulders. He turned a cold eye on Kellet. "Go to my office, and wait," he said.

Kellet, with a final look at Mills to assure him the matter wasn't finished, jerked his arm away from Newkirk and stomped away to Hogan's private quarters.

Hogan swept a look around the rest of the men. "The rest of you, get this place cleaned up, and then find something quiet to do till lights out."

He drew LeBeau aside, as the others started work. "What did he say?"

"The usual," LeBeau replied, his eyes dark with anger. "Don't make me repeat it, _mon colonel_. I'd have to wash my mouth out with carbolic afterwards. I think Mills would have let it pass, but Newkirk took it up, and...well, things just went downhill from there."

For a few moments, Hogan didn't speak. He glanced at Mills, who was righting the chairs which had fallen over in the ruckus. "Okay," he said in a low voice. "How long has this been going on, and why haven't I been told?"

"Since Mills first got here. And he wouldn't let anyone say anything. He says he can handle it, and it's only what's to be expected."

"Not under my command it isn't." Hogan turned on his heel, and disappeared into his quarters, to deliver a dressing down he'd never bettered.

Carter hadn't said another word. He went back to the sink, and the rest of the dirty dishes.

"You're not getting all the gravy off that, Carter," observed Newkirk, strolling over. "Maybe I should have done it after all."

"I got it, Newkirk," said Carter crossly, batting away the hand that was trying to take away the dishcloth. "You go and - I dunno, clean the windows or something."

Newkirk loitered, regarding him with a slight frown. "You all right, Andrew?" he said after a moment.

"Sure." Carter didn't look up. "Just that you're always picking on everything. I can do some things right, you know."

Before Newkirk could decide how to answer that, the door of the colonel's quarters opened, and a chastened Kellet emerged. He went straight to Mills.

"Sorry," he mumbled sullenly.

Mills glanced at Hogan, who was standing in the doorway, his shoulder resting against the frame, watching. "Okay," he replied curtly. "Let's say that's an end to it."

"Not yet." Hogan straightened up, and advanced to the middle of the barracks. "I've got something to say, and you all better take notice. You all know this isn't just a POW camp. We have an important job to do, and a very dangerous one. That means we have to depend on each other, and trust each other, absolutely. If you have a problem with that, then you're no use to me. Is that clear?"

"Clear as crystal, Colonel," said Newkirk, as nobody else was willing to answer.

"Good. Because I don't want to see a repeat performance." Hogan let that hang for a moment, his eyes moving round the barracks. "Lights out is in ten minutes," he added.

Accepting that as dismissal, the men went back to straightening up the barracks and preparing for bed, in an atmosphere of silent discomfort. Kinch, coming back up from the tunnel in time for roll call, turned a questioning look towards LeBeau, but it went unanswered.

Carter finished the dishes, and went to his bunk. He didn't seem particularly disturbed by the incident, but he made no attempt to get undressed, just straightened his blanket, smoothed the mattress, and straightened the blanket again. Then he glanced at Hogan, and for a few seconds his customary, slightly dopey expression changed. Hogan nodded slightly in reply.

The guard would be in any minute for the evening head count preceding lights out. It would have to wait till after that. But the disturbance in the barracks had obviously had an effect. Hogan didn't yet know what he was about to hear, but what he did know was that, for the first time since this whole mess had started, Carter wanted to talk.

* * *

*A Dark Night, Long Ago


	6. Chapter 6

Within ten minutes of lights out, stirrings began again in Barracks 2. First Kinch, then LeBeau and Newkirk descended into the tunnel. By the time Hogan reached the radio room, only Kinch was there, the other two having gone to attend to business in other branches of the tunnel network.

"They told me what happened, Colonel," said Kinch. "Is everything okay up there?"

"For now, I hope so," replied Hogan. "Kellet's going to need watching, but I doubt he'll take it further. Hasn't got the guts."

"Guys like him can make a lot of trouble," remarked Kinch. He'd had a few run-ins of his own with Kellet, who didn't like Negroes, either.

"Yeah." Hogan folded his arms. "I might have to consider moving him to another barracks. Or moving Mills, which I don't want to do. He's too useful, and he's safer with us. Kellet's got some like-minded friends in some of the other barracks."

He glanced over his shoulder, as the sound of the tunnel entrance opening reached him, and a few moments later Carter appeared on the ladder.

"Go on down to the workshop, Carter," said Hogan casually. "I'll be along in a couple of minutes.

"Yes, sir," murmured Carter.

Kinch watched him go out of sight, then turned a look of enquiry on his chief. He was in on Carter's history, but Carter didn't know it, and for the sake of his peace of mind the decision had been made to keep it that way. It wasn't always easy.

"I think he's got something he wants to get off his chest," said Hogan quietly. "So if you can try to make sure we're not interrupted..."

"I'll do what I can, Colonel," replied Kinch doubtfully. "Can't make any promises. You know what it's like down here at night."

Hogan went on to the workshop, where Carter had gone to make a few final adjustments on the bombs for the following night's mission. He looked up as Hogan came in.

"Just making sure the connections are safe," he said absently. "You don't want anything going off while Mills is crawling under the truck with it. I mean, it'd do the job, all right, but it'd be kinda tough on Mills."

"Yeah, I guess it would," agreed Hogan, sitting opposite and folding his arms.

There was a short silence, as Carter went over his handiwork, with much more care than he normally took. He was inclined to be careless of his own safety around explosives, although somehow he always escaped serious injury. It would be a long time before anyone forgot his attempts to manufacture chlorine gas, in the course of which he'd blown himself up a dozen times in two days. But it was a different matter when someone else was going to be handling the finished product.

Hogan sat back, waiting. He didn't have to wait long.

"Why does he let 'em say stuff like that?"

Carter was still inspecting the wiring, and spoke without looking up.

"You mean Mills?" Hogan leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the workbench. "You'd have to ask him. I can only make a guess, and I might be wrong."

"Okay," said Carter uncertainly. "It's just..." He didn't go on, but after a moment he put down the bundle of dynamite. "I mean, some of the fellers give me a hard time sometimes, when I do something really dumb, but I got used to that. But if anyone ever said anything like that, I..." Once again he broke off, and after a few seconds he finished, in a very low voice, "I don't know what I'd do."

"Carter, it's not likely you're ever going to be at the receiving end of that kind of crap," said Hogan. "You're not - "

"_Excusez-moi, mon colonel_."

LeBeau came bustling into the workshop, and Hogan straightened up. "What's up, LeBeau?"

"I'm just heading out to the woods, to get the herbs I need for tomorrow night's dinner party in Klink's quarters. I thought I should let you know."

"Yeah, thanks." Hogan glanced at Carter, who had gone back to work on the dynamite pack. "Don't be too long, and keep an eye out for patrols."

"I always do." LeBeau grinned, and headed off.

Carter continued working, and for almost a minute, not a word was spoken.

"Okay, Carter," said Hogan at last. "Something's biting you. Now, you can either keep it to yourself and let it keep worrying you, or you can tell me what it is and I'll see if I can fix it."

"I don't think you can, Colonel," murmured Carter. "There's just some things can't be fixed."

"Maybe. But I can at least try, right?"

Carter kept his head lowered, but still looked through his eyelashes at his colonel's face, as if trying to read his expression. He took a deep breath, braced himself to speak, then changed his mind. Hogan just kept waiting.

Finally Carter started again. "When you found out about - well, you know - I was really scared. I thought - I was scared you'd think - " He came to a stop, biting his lips together, looking up at the roof as if he thought he might find some inspiration among the cobwebs.

"I'd think what?" asked Hogan sharply. "Carter, what was it?"

Carter shook his head, closing his eyes tightly. For a few seconds Hogan thought the impulse to confide had passed. Then Carter spoke, in a whisper so quiet that Hogan almost missed it, rushing to get the words out before he lost his nerve again.

"I was scared you'd think I asked for it."

Hogan was shocked into silence. That was one thought that had never occurred to him.

"No," he said at last. "Damn it, Carter, no. What the hell put that idea into your head?" Then, as Carter covered his face with his hands, he moderated his tones a little. "Carter, I know how it happened. Nobody in their right mind would come up with a lame-brained idea like that. Why would you think...?"

He broke off abruptly, and Carter raised his head, and turned slightly away from the entrance, blinking rapidly. A few seconds later, Newkirk came into sight, a grey army greatcoat over one arm, and a tape measure draped around his neck.

"Wondered where you'd got to, Colonel," he said. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need a word with Carter about tomorrow night."

"What is it, Newkirk?" Carter had picked up the dynamite package and was to all appearances engrossed in it. He sounded distracted, but in control.

"Well, seeing as the colonel's not coming along, and he was going to be the lieutenant, it looks like one of us gets a promotion. And you make a better officer than I do."

"Yeah, okay," said Carter absently.

"So that being the case, I'll need to make a few alterations, because the only thing I don't have in your size is a lieutenant's uniform."

Hogan sighed. "Or you could make him a captain instead."

Newkirk thought for a moment, then laughed. "Well, yes, I could do that, I suppose." He looked from Hogan to Carter, then back to Hogan again. "I'll just go and see what I've got," he said, and backed out of the workshop.

He ran into LeBeau in the doorway. Carter cast up his eyes in despair, and Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose. _We should have sold tickets,_ he thought.

"Sorry, _mon colonel_. I couldn't get out of the emergency tunnel. The night patrol's out there, with the dogs."

"Since when have the dogs been a problem for you?" demanded Hogan.

"Since I fed them that liver in red wine sauce that none of you would eat. Now they come running every time they see me. I will have to go out later, after they've gone."

"Fine. You do that." Hogan had folded his arms again. "Is there anything else you need to do tonight?"

"I don't think so," replied LeBeau with a shrug, coming to peer over Carter's shoulder.

"Then how about making some coffee? Take it to the radio room, I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

"Okay. Hey, nice work, Carter," said LeBeau, and vanished.

"Yeah. Thanks, Louis," murmured Carter. Then, as soon as he was sure LeBeau was out of earshot, he went on. "Sorry, Colonel. I guess the middle of a war's no place to try and have a private conversation."

Hogan grimaced in agreement. But there was something that had to be said, in spite of the possibility of further interruptions. "Look, Carter, I don't know who or what gave you that idea, but I want you to forget it, right now."

"I can't. Just because you never thought of it, doesn't mean nobody else is going to."

Even as he started to refute the argument, Hogan stopped in his tracks. He sat silent for half a minute, his eyebrows drawn in as he considered this new point of view.

"See?" said Carter at last. "A guy like Kellet would have a field day with it."

"Yeah, I see," Hogan replied slowly. "I guess it's no good telling you that guys like Kellet don't matter."

"When you're stuck in the same barracks with them for the duration, they matter." Carter pushed the demolition pack aside. "If he ever found out - "

"He's not going to find out," interrupted Hogan. "But if it ever did get out, we'd deal with it." He paused, watching Carter keenly. "Carter, I've said this before, and I'll keep saying it. And no matter what anyone else said to you before, you listen to me. You didn't do anything to deserve what happened."

"Yeah, I know that. Of course I know that," replied Carter uncertainly. "But…"

"Then here's something else to think about," Hogan went on. "I can't let the operation be compromised. But as long as you're part of it, I've got your back."

He stood up to leave, but had one more thing to say. "And if you think I'm letting you quit, you can think again. So you better just pull yourself together, Carter, because until I say otherwise, you're part of my team. Understood?"

Carter looked up at him, and the worried look slowly gave way to a smile. "Understood, Colonel," he said softly.


	7. Chapter 7

There was never much night traffic on the Flensheim road. The two men in charge of the checkpoint at the bridge had little to keep them occupied while they waited for the convoy transporting the prototype artillery cannon from the factory at Hammelburg to the testing range. One of the men, in the uniform of a private, walked back and forth behind the barrier, smoking. It was against regulations, but his superior didn't pull him up for it.

Every so often a muffled thumping noise could be heard from behind the sentry box, where the soldier who was supposed to be manning the post had been stashed for safe keeping.

"Persistent beggar, isn't he?" remarked Newkirk at length.

The captain sighed. "Well, you can't really blame him, Newkirk. If some guys tied you up and dumped you in a nettle patch, you wouldn't be happy about it, would you?"

"Look, Carter, we're doing him a favor. Stinging nettles are good for the skin. He'll look lovely once the rash goes down." Newkirk dropped the end of his cigarette and stamped it out, then went to lean on the railing of the bridge. "You all right down there, Mills?"

Mills leaned out from below the bridge. His face, blackened with soot, was scarcely visible in the darkness. "Yeah. Me and the spiders are getting real friendly. When's this convoy supposed to get here?"

Newkirk looked at his watch. "An hour ago."

"So much for German efficiency." Mills went back under the bridge.

Newkirk lit another cigarette, and went back to pacing, while Carter leaned against the wall of the sentry box. Then he straightened up abruptly. "Newkirk, we're gonna have to move that guy, before he kicks a hole in the wall."

"Meaning I have to move him, I suppose?"

"Well, I'm a captain, I don't do heavy lifting. I'll watch the barrier."

"I didn't join up for this," muttered Newkirk, as he went behind the sentry box. "Okay, sunshine, let's get you somewhere a bit more comfy."

He grabbed the German soldier under the arms, and dragged him a few feet further from the sentry box. "Bloody hell, chum," he said through gritted teeth. "Perhaps it's time you laid off the fried potatoes."

Just as he returned to the barrier, the sound of a heavy vehicle motor reached him, and a moment later he saw the headlights appear from around the bend in the road. Carter straightened up, slipping effortlessly into his role, and Newkirk stepped forward and raised his hand to signal the driver to stop.

"Stand by, Mills," he said, just loudly enough to be heard from below. "We're on."

* * *

The main course had just been served in the Kommandant's quarters, and the third bottle of burgundy went to the table with it. It was an offence to the chef's sensibilities, but since the entire menu gave him pain, the inappropriateness of the wine was only a minor consideration.

As the occasion was informal, LeBeau brought the food to the table himself, an arrangement which allowed him to listen in on the conversation. It wasn't exactly sparkling. Colonel Klink and Major Stieffel had passed through university together, and the talk was mostly about old classmates. They spent an hour reminiscing about the ones who had been rewarded for their services to the Reich with a generalship, followed by a slow death in Russia, and the others who had met a more rapid termination of existence after falling under the displeasure of the Führer. Their mutual conclusion, drawn from their own survival, was that inefficiency paid worthwhile dividends.

With the arrival of the main course, the conversation moved on to other matters. Stieffel hunched forward over his dinner plate, all the better to shovel in great mouthfuls of meat and cabbage. "By the way, Wilhelm," he mumbled indistinctly, "our friend from Düsseldorf has been in touch with my office again."

Klink glanced uncomfortably at LeBeau, who was lingering over the serving trolley. "Be careful what you say," he whispered. "We're not alone, you know."

Stieffel turned a disinterested eye on the chef. "Bah, the cook," he grumbled. "Who is he going to tell? You keep telling me nobody ever escapes from Stalag 13."

Klink's embarrassment increased. "One can't be too careful, Herbert," he muttered. "LeBeau, back to the kitchen. I will call you when we need you."

"_Oui, Kommandant_," said LeBeau, and retreated. As he passed through the door, he allowed the cloth hanging at his waist to fall to the floor, to prevent the door from closing fully.

Schultz was seated at the kitchen table. He was supposed to be guarding LeBeau, but he was more interested in the _Schweinebraten_, and didn't even look up at the chef's return. So much the better, it made it easier to eavesdrop. LeBeau took up a position near the door, peeling and slicing apples as he listened.

"Our informant will be in Hammelburg on Saturday night," said Stieffel. "The drop-off will be at the Hofbrau, between seven and seven-thirty. This one is important, Klink. The last information we received from this contact was accurate, but contained nothing of significance. But this time he claims to have details of enemy agents operating throughout this part of Germany. My contacts in the Gestapo are very keen to get hold of this information."

_I bet they are,_ thought LeBeau viciously.

There was a brief silence. "Has he told you anything?" asked Klink.

"No. The information is strictly for Gestapo eyes only. They don't want to take any chances of the informer's identity being discovered. So the envelope will be sealed, and is not to be opened until it reaches Colonel Eisner. No peeking, Wilhelm. And make sure that it is securely locked away until I come for it."

"Oh, it will be secure, Herbert," replied Klink smugly. "It will go straight into the safe..."

_Some security._ LeBeau chuckled under his breath. Newkirk could open that safe with his eyes closed.

"...and I will ensure that one of the guards remains in the office at all times."

The knife in LeBeau's hand stopped in mid-stroke. That was likely to be a problem. Well, at least they knew in advance what to expect. _Le colonel_ would come up with a plan.

* * *

It was some time since Hogan had gone out personally to meet incoming visitors, and he'd forgotten how unnerving it was, waiting under cover near the rendezvous point for the plane to come into view.

They were on time. That was something to be thankful for. He signalled with the flashlight, and something detached from the plane and fell towards the ground, slowing as the parachute opened.

_Right on target_, thought Hogan. He watched the descent with narrowed eyes, making sure of the final landing point before he set off. By the time he came within sight, the parachutist had already freed himself from his harness, and was attempting to pull the chute down from the tree where it had caught. Hogan went to help, but stopped in his tracks as the man, hearing him approach, turned with a startled jerk.

"Papa Bear," Hogan murmured.

The agent relaxed slightly. "Jack Sprat," he replied. "Sorry about this, I'm out of practice."

"It's not an easy place for a parachute jump," said Hogan. "But we better not leave it lying around."

It took a few minutes, and some effort, to get the parachute disentangled from the branches and concealed among the bushes below. Hogan remained on alert, in case the descent had been seen, but no patrol came into sight.

"Keep close," he whispered, "and don't talk unless you have to."

Jack Sprat nodded agreement, and as Hogan led off, he followed, close but not too close.

As they neared the emergency tunnel, a movement among the trees caught Hogan's eye. He froze, and his companion followed his example. There was silence for a moment, then the call of an owl, repeated three times. Hogan relaxed, and returned the call. Almost at once, Newkirk emerged from the undergrowth, and a few seconds later, Mills and Carter. It was too dark to read their expressions, but he could tell they were pleased with themselves. The mission had obviously gone well.

"Good job?" said Hogan under his breath.

"Went like a dream, Colonel," replied Newkirk in the same low tone. "One of Carter's best efforts, if I might say so."

"Tell me later." Hogan nodded in the direction of the tree stump, and his men moved off, shadows in the dark. Hogan and Jack Sprat were just behind them.

The last few yards were the most dangerous. The entrance to the tunnel was within sight of the gate, and covered by the spotlight from the guard tower. With the tree stump in sight, Newkirk, who was leading, crouched at the edge of the bushes, scanning for threats. Seeing all was clear, first Carter, then Mills made a dash for the entrance.

"Okay, stay with me," Hogan murmured to the new arrival, and as soon as the spotlight had passed, he ran half-crouched to the stump, and raised the lid. "Inside, and straight down. Get going."

Jack Sprat obeyed without hesitation, and disappeared below. Hogan followed.

Carter and Mills were waiting at the foot of the ladder, and as soon as Hogan got there, he knew there was a problem. The subdued elation which had been evident in the returning sabotage team was gone. Jack Sprat was on one side of the ladder, a tall, good-looking man, roughly the same age as Hogan. On the other side, Carter stood, his eyes fixed on the newcomer, his face flushed and angry. Mills was in between, and he met Hogan's eyes with a look of consternation.

Hogan glanced from one man to the other. "Well?"

"Well, this is a little awkward," said Jack Sprat, with a half-smile. "I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you here, Carter."

Carter didn't answer, and after a moment of silence, Mills stepped into the gap. "Colonel, this is Major Staller. He used to be at the 182nd, he was there at the same time as Carter."

Hogan frowned a little. He'd heard the name before, but for a moment he wasn't sure of the context. Then it came back to him. Before he could say anything, however, Newkirk came down the ladder with his usual careless haste.

"Well, that's a job well done," he announced cheerfully, completely insensible to the tension in the air. "Nice bit of work, Carter. Maybe a bit over the top, though. It's probably still raining cannon parts on the Flensheim Road."

"Good," said Hogan mildly. "Go and get changed, and get back to the barracks. I'll get the full story in the morning. You too, Mills." He glanced at Carter, and nodded slightly, and after a moment Carter turned and followed the other two.

Hogan turned his attention to the newcomer. "Major Staller," he said, in a very soft voice. "You were the adjutant at the 182nd, right?"

"That's right, sir," replied Staller. He'd taken a step back, unconsciously responding to something in Hogan's manner, but he met the colonel's eye without flinching. "I was..."

"I know who you are," Hogan interrupted. He still spoke quietly, but Staller fell silent. "You're the officer who went to see Carter in the hospital, after he'd just been through hell. I don't know everything you said to him, but I know what the results were. So I'll give you one minute to come up with a reason why I should let you anywhere near my command. And it better be a good one."


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm surprised you know about Carter," said Staller, after a few seconds of tense silence. "To be honest, I thought he'd have kept quiet about it."

"He did," replied Hogan curtly. "I heard it from someone else."

"Mills? Oh, I remember him." The corners of Staller's mouth turned up. "A little indiscreet of him, wasn't it?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if expecting Hogan to share in some private joke about Mills. A confident man, Staller, with an open, likeable manner, clearly accustomed to making a good impression on new acquaintances. But Hogan already knew enough about him to resist any friendly overtures. The tinge of malice in the man's attitude just topped it off. Mills wasn't fair game, and Staller might as well accept that right now.

"Mills gave me the outline, but only after I'd worked out part of it for myself," said Hogan. "We had one of the men involved through here, not long ago. Sergeant Jackson."

"Ah. I see." Staller breathed out, the smile fading. "That must have been interesting. How'd Carter take it? Not well, I guess. He was pretty unbalanced last time I saw him."

"We dealt with it. But it's not happening again." Hogan leaned back against the ladder and folded his arms.

Staller bit his lower lip. Apparently outright hostility was not what he was used to. "You can't refuse the assignment," he pointed out. "This is a serious matter, it could break up the whole Underground organization at Düsseldorf. If that happens, the next one to fall could be Hammelburg. And that's getting real close to Stalag 13. Are you going to endanger your whole operation, just to save one man from embarrassment? Is Carter worth that much to you?"

There was a long silence before Hogan answered. "Carter's part of my team. I look out for him, the same as I do for all my men. But you're on the wrong track, Staller. I don't want you around Carter, but if it's necessary, he can cope with it. My problem is with the way you handled the matter. It doesn't inspire confidence."

"I did the best I could, under the circumstances," replied Staller.

"No, you didn't. You went for the obvious solution. You assumed that Carter was the problem. That was a major error in judgement, and in my book, it flags you as a security risk. Any man who could do what you did is someone I don't trust. I'm not sure I want to take a chance on you screwing up this operation by making another wrong decision at a critical time. The fact that I don't like you just makes it easier to say so."

"Look, I'll admit I'm not proud of how I handled Carter's case," said Staller. "But I still think it was the best way to deal with it. The story had to be kept under wraps, for all kinds of reasons. The situation at the 182nd was complicated - more complicated than you know." He paused, glancing along the tunnel. "Is there somewhere else we can discuss this? I'm not anxious to be overheard."

There was a long silence before Hogan conceded. He didn't want to listen to any excuses from this man. But the situation in the Düsseldorf Underground operation had to be resolved, and Staller was part of the solution. If he had any kind of justification for his actions in regard to Carter, then regardless of his own feelings Hogan had to take it into account.

He didn't speak, just turned and walked away, leaving Staller to follow or not, as he chose.

Kinch looked up as they reached the radio room. "Newkirk and Mills have gone up to the barracks, Colonel. And LeBeau was down here, he wants to talk to you. Klink's got another meeting in town."

"Where's Carter?"

"Didn't see him." Kinch glanced curiously at the stranger, sensing the tension that had arrived with him.

"This is Major Staller," said Hogan brusquely. "There's a few things I have to sort out with him, so I'll show him to his quarters. I'll speak to LeBeau in the morning."

Kinch hadn't so much as blinked, but he recognized the name, and the glance he sent towards Staller had none of the usual warmth he displayed towards visitors. "Should I check on Carter?" he asked.

"Not yet. When he shows up, send him to bed. This way, Staller."

"You've got a pretty neat set-up here," observed Staller, as Hogan led the way to the underground sleeping quarters. Hogan didn't reply. He was in no mood for small talk.

He gestured towards the nearest cot. "Sit down, and start talking."

Staller sat, and ran one hand through his hair. "There was a security problem. That's the reason I was assigned there in the first place. I was with counter-intelligence back then. We found out there was a leak at the 182nd, information was finding its way to Germany. I was assigned to take care of it."

"What kind of leak? And what's it got to do with Carter?"

"Nothing - not directly, anyway. The thing is, the 182nd was involved in a special operation. Has Carter, or Mills, ever said anything about Project Cadmos? No, they probably wouldn't - it was top secret. I can't say anything more about it, but it was well advanced when I was there. It was big, Hogan. It could have made a real difference to the air war in Europe, if it had worked out."

"Obviously it didn't."

"No. But at the time, it was looking pretty good. So when we found out the Jerries had gotten a man inside the squadron, it had to be dealt with. We were just getting close, when that happened."

"It wasn't Carter's fault."

"I'm not saying it was. But it was a serious threat to my assignment, and to Cadmos as well. Any inquiry at that time would have put the whole squadron under a cloud, and possibly sent the spy to ground. I couldn't risk it, I had to make sure Carter kept quiet."

"You could have gone about it differently," said Hogan quietly. "If you'd told him what was at stake..."

"At that stage, for all I knew he was part of it," Staller cut in. "He'd just escaped from Germany, they could have turned him. Just because they'd gotten one guy on the inside, doesn't mean they wouldn't send another if they had the chance."

He hesitated, glancing sideways at Hogan, before he went on. "I had a man on one of the bomber crews. He'd been working on the case for eight months, and he was within days of cracking it."

"Which crew?" asked Hogan sharply. Staller went red, and looked away. "Jesus Christ, Staller...!"

"He wasn't involved," Staller interrupted. "But he knew what they were up to that night. It wasn't an easy decision for him, he'd just gotten to the stage where the rest of the crew trusted him. If he'd interfered, all that might have gone for nothing, and we'd have been back to square one. And Carter was only there by accident. As far as my man knew, his crewmates had someone else lined up."

"Yeah, I know about that." Hogan's voice grated as he replied. "Kid of nineteen or so. He shot himself afterwards. That doesn't make it any better."

"Look, you said it yourself, just now. You have to look out for your own men. He was in an impossible situation. On top of that, there had been a previous incident - a woman in the town. My man had helped cover that up. Any further trouble, and his part in that would have come out. So tell me, Hogan, what would you have done, if it had been one of your men?"

Hogan shook his head, slowly. "None of my men would have allowed something like that to happen," he said. But in spite of his wholehearted rejection of the idea, he knew Staller had found the one argument that he couldn't counter. He'd always assumed that if the need arose, he'd do whatever it took to protect his team. Suddenly he found himself wondering how far he'd be prepared to go, if it came to the crunch. Damn it - this bastard was too clever.

Staller didn't press the point. "I know it sounds brutal, but the fact is, what happened to Carter wasn't really significant, compared to the big picture. Anyway, the damage was done, as far as he was concerned. Nothing was going to fix it. And even if he had decided to make a complaint, can you imagine what it would have been like for him, giving evidence? They'd have taken him apart."

Hogan knew that, too. "That's not the point, Staller," he began angrily.

"Who was it?"

Neither of them had realized they weren't alone. Carter was standing in the entrance, still in his German uniform.

"Who was it?" he asked again, as Staller just stared at him. "Your guy in the squadron, which one was it?"

"Lieutenant Mason," said Staller, after a lengthy silence.

"Yeah. I remember him." Carter paused, his eyebrows drawn in. "He was okay. I mean, I thought he was..." He stopped, slowly developing the anxious look that meant he didn't quite get something that was perfectly clear to everyone else around him.

"What happened to him?" he asked, after a pause. "Did they transfer him, too?"

"The whole crew was transferred. The CO wasn't satisfied with how things played out, I think he knew there was more going on than he was being told. Mason went to another bomber squadron, in the north. Got shot down over the Channel. He didn't make it."

Hogan pressed his lips together, suppressing his instinctive response. To say what he thought could only hurt Carter. But whatever it was that Staller had said or done - and Hogan was starting to form his own opinion as to what that might have been - it hadn't changed the outcome. He'd added an extra layer to Carter's torment, for no significant result.

A decision had to be made. Hogan had known for some time which way it was going to have to go, and a quick exchange of glances told him Carter understood, too. But neither of them had to be happy with it.

"Okay, Staller," said Hogan at last. "Get in touch with your man in Düsseldorf. But whatever you work out with him, you run it past me first. Because I'm taking full charge of this mission, Major. As long as you're at Stalag 13, you answer to me."


	9. Chapter 9

The men of Barracks 2 weren't sure what was going on, but they could tell Colonel Hogan didn't like their new guest.

"I don't get it. He seems all right," remarked Newkirk, as he cleaned the mud off the boots he'd worn the night before. "Nice sort of bloke, if you ask me."

LeBeau shrugged, and kept sweeping. "I didn't meet him yet. What did you think of him, André?"

"Dunno." Carter was making up his bunk, and didn't turn around.

"Maybe the colonel knows him from somewhere," Newkirk went on. "He didn't look that pleased to see him, anyway. Did he say anything, Carter?"

It was Mills who answered. "Not while we were there. I guess if there's anything we need to know about him, we'll be told."

"Well, if you ask me..." Newkirk broke off as the door of Hogan's office opened and the colonel emerged. He didn't look as if he'd slept well, and his men exchanged warning looks.

"Mills, I need to speak to you," he said, jerking his head towards his office.

Mills glanced at Carter, then followed Hogan to his quarters. There was silence for a few seconds as the door closed behind them, then a half-suppressed snigger from Kellet.

Newkirk stood up abruptly, and took a step towards him, but Kinch was ahead of him. "Don't start anything," he murmured. "He'll keep, Newkirk. He's not worth bruising your knuckles on."

"I'll give that bleedin' waster something to laugh about, one of these days, Kinch," growled Newkirk. But he yielded, and worked off his anger by polishing those boots till they gleamed.

Whatever Kellet was hinting at, he was way off base. Hogan just wanted to clarify some aspects of Staller's story, and Mills was the best man to ask.

"I need you to confirm something for me," said Hogan. "Last night Staller mentioned something called Project Cadmos, that was running at the 182nd. Do you know anything about it?"

Mills gave him a startled look. "Uh...yeah. But we're not supposed to talk about it."

"Okay. I don't need any details. I just wanted to be sure Staller wasn't spinning out a line. He said it was canned."

"That's right, Colonel. Not long after I got there," replied Mills. "They never said why, but the rumor around the base was that there was too much bad feeling between the fliers and the ground crews."

Hogan nodded, frowning slightly. "Staller talked about a security issue. Anything you can tell me about that?"

"I never heard anything," said Mills after a moment's thought. "They used to keep a pretty close watch on everyone - what we were up to, where we went, who we talked to. But nothing was ever said. Seems to me they wouldn't admit it, if there was a leak."

"Uh-huh. One more thing, Mills. Do you remember, or did anyone ever talk about, a Lieutenant Mason? He was on the same air crew as Jackson."

Mills's eyebrows drew in as he searched his memory. "Doesn't ring any bells, Colonel. But that whole crew was all transferred out before I went there, even the guys who had nothing to do with Carter. There wasn't any Mason involved in that, anyway. I got told all about those jokers."

Hogan grunted. He wasn't about to absolve the unknown Lieutenant Mason from culpability, even if technically he wasn't guilty, and even if he was dead. As far as Hogan was concerned, he was still answerable. "But Staller was still there when you arrived?"

"He stayed on for a couple of months, then he got reassigned. I didn't see much of him, but most of the other guys seemed to think he was okay." Mills looked at the colonel, his head slightly tilted as he tried to work out what was going on. "Last night I got the feeling Carter doesn't like him, but I never heard anything bad about him when I was there."

Hogan wasn't giving anything away, not yet. "Okay, thanks, Mills."

Accepting that as dismissal, Mills headed for the door, but paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Colonel, about Project Cadmos - you probably better not say anything to anyone. Staller probably shouldn't have told you about it. They wound it up, but we were told it was still top secret. So..."

"I understand, Mills. And don't worry - you didn't tell me anything, so you haven't breached any confidentiality."

Mills relaxed slightly. "Actually, Colonel, I probably couldn't tell you much anyway. They shut it down within a couple of weeks after I arrived, so I was never really in on it."

He went out. Hogan remained alone for a few minutes, his frown deepening. Then he, too, headed out.

"Where's Kinch?" he asked, not addressing anyone in particular.

"He went outside," replied LeBeau.

Hogan sent a quick look in Carter's direction, but Carter seemed okay, only a bit preoccupied. That wasn't unusual since he had been held hostage during Jackson's escape attempt. Most times Newkirk or LeBeau would pick up on it, and take steps to coax him back to normal, and even though neither of them had any idea how deeply hurt he had been by that experience, it always seemed to work out. The situation had become more complicated with Staller's arrival at Stalag 13, but for now Hogan was confident Carter could be safely left in the hands of his closest friends.

Leaving the barracks, Hogan found Kinch standing a few feet from the hut, looking up at the roof. "Looks like we'll need to do some repairs, Colonel," he said. "The first strong wind's going to take the roof right off."

"Try telling Klink about it," replied Hogan shortly. "See how much joy you get from him."

Kinch already had a pretty good idea why Hogan wasn't in the sweetest of tempers. He didn't answer, but just waited.

"I want you to start checking on someone for me," said Hogan. "Name of Mason, lieutenant with the 182nd, around the same time Carter was last there. He's supposed to have been shot down over the Channel at some stage since then. I'd like to find out if it's true."

Kinch frowned slightly. "Has he got something to do with...?"

"Yeah. Indirectly, anyway." Hogan folded his arms, looking up at the roof. "Staller gave me his version of events last night. According to him, he had a counter-intelligence operation running at the 182nd, and Mason was his inside man on one of the bomber crews."

There was a brief silence while Kinch thought about that, and came to the same conclusion Hogan had the night before. He didn't say a word, but his head tilted back slightly, and his shoulders stiffened.

"Yep," said Hogan shortly. "The same crew. Staller claims he wasn't involved, but he didn't try to stop it, either. Thing is, I don't trust him."

"Staller? Or Mason?" asked Kinch quietly.

"Oh, I trust Mason all right, as long as he's where he's supposed to be - at the bottom of the English Channel," replied Hogan. "But Staller... He's pretty slick, you know, Kinch. Got an answer for everything." He was silent for a moment. "He almost had me," he murmured at last.

"Almost?"

"Yeah. His story is, he had to keep Carter quiet, otherwise his operation - and Mason - would have been compromised. That almost makes sense to me, Kinch. It makes me sick, but I can just about see how he ended up there. But if any man under my command had gotten himself into that kind of trouble..."

"You'd never do it, Colonel," interrupted Kinch. "You would have found some other way to deal with it."

"I hope so," said Hogan, almost under his breath. "If I thought I could do something like that, even for a good reason..." He broke off, gazing at the roof as if checking its structural integrity. Then he took a quick inward breath, and shook his head as if to rid himself of something unpleasant. "Get on to that as soon as you can, Kinch."

"What's on your mind, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

Hogan took his time about answering. "The Krauts got a mole inside 182 Squadron. Now the Düsseldorf Underground has been infiltrated as well. What's the common factor, Kinch?"

"Staller," replied Kinch, after a moment. "He's got one of his guys at Düsseldorf, and he had someone inside at the 182nd. Colonel, you don't think...?"

"I'm not sure what I think yet, Kinch," said Hogan. "All I'm sure of is that there's a guy in our tunnels who I don't trust. So everything he tells me, I want verified. And if his inside man from the 182nd is still alive, I want to know where he is."


	10. Chapter 10

The information LeBeau had picked up at Klink's dinner table made it clear that the matter of the Düsseldorf informer had to be resolved, fast.

Hogan wasn't happy about it, but for now he had no choice but to assume Staller was reliable, at least until more information could be obtained. That wasn't going to happen soon. So when the colonel assembled his men in the barracks that afternoon for a briefing, Staller was among them.

Carter stayed on the edge of the group, in spite of efforts by LeBeau and Newkirk to bring him forward. But Kinch quickly came to his rescue, unobtrusively engaging him in a quiet conversation which seemed just confidential enough to prompt the other men to leave them to it, while Mills distracted the other two by opening a debate on the relative merits of their respective countries' national cuisine. Both discussions were cut short, as Hogan called for everyone to pay attention.

"Adams, watch the door," he said. "The rest of you, gather round." He nodded to Carter, who was obviously hesitant, and after a moment Carter came forward, and sat on the end of the bench already occupied by Newkirk, LeBeau and Mills. Kinch set his shoulders against the edge of the upper bunk directly behind, close but not too close. It might have been unintentional, but he couldn't have found a more effective way to demonstrate to Staller, without pressing the point, that here, at least, Carter was among friends.

"Okay," said Hogan. "As you all know, the Düsseldorf Underground has picked up a nasty dose of Nazi infiltration. The bad news is, the Krauts' informer is about to pass on another message to his friends in the Gestapo. The good news is, he's still using Klink as his go-between, which means we have the chance to intercept the report before it gets any further. Now, thanks to our little kitchen elf..." He grinned at LeBeau, who scowled fiercely in reply. "...we know that Klink is meeting the informer at the Hofbrau on Saturday night."

"Any chance we can stop Klink from leaving camp?" asked Newkirk.

"We could," said Hogan slowly, "but it'd be more useful if he went along, and gave us the chance to identify his contact. Staller, your man in Düsseldorf - we're supposed to be getting him out of there, right?"

Staller, frowning slightly in thought, didn't answer at once. "That was the original idea," he said at last. "But we've had a lot of discussions about whether it's possible to keep him in Düsseldorf. He's in a position of trust in the Luftwaffe intelligence office there, he's got access to a lot of high-level information. On top of that, he's been able to protect his colleagues in the Underground from detection, up till now. I don't want to pull him out, if we can avoid it. Of course, if he's at risk, it's another matter."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Weber - Karl Weber," replied Staller. "German by birth, but lived in the States for a number of years. He went to Yale," he added inconsequentially.

"Well, we needn't hold that against him," said Kinch.

Staller looked displeased at the interruption, but let it pass. "He came back to Germany after graduation, got drafted almost immediately. When the war started, he got in touch with some old college buddies in Washington, and started passing information. He got himself a post in Luftwaffe intelligence, then about six months ago he was transferred to Düsseldorf."

"And you're sure of him?" Hogan asked the question as if it were routine. But so far they hadn't confirmed anything about Staller's inside man at 182 Squadron. Kinch, at least, was aware of the doubt in the colonel's mind.

Staller recognized it, too. "Weber's credentials are pretty well established," he said. "I've only handled him since he came to Düsseldorf, but he dealt with other officers in my unit before that, and he's always proven reliable. You don't have to take my word for it. If you contact headquarters, you'll find a dozen people who can vouch for him."

Hogan had every intention of doing just that, but he didn't let on. "How are you supposed to get in touch with him?"

"Ideally, I'd prefer to go to Düsseldorf in person. But if that's difficult, there is a recognition code that can be used by telephone."

"Always risky," Hogan interrupted. "His phone could be bugged."

"Of course, we thought of that," replied Staller patiently. "Once the key phrases have been used, anything sensitive is coded. In any case, he would check for microphones as a matter of routine. What's on your mind, Colonel?"

Hogan didn't answer at once. "We need to get Weber to Hammelburg," he said at last. "Whoever the mole is at Düsseldorf, he's probably going to recognize him. So if he can be at the Hofbrau on Saturday night…"

"I get you." Staller pursed his lips in thought. "It might be possible." He was silent for a moment, frowning. "We can try it. But I need to talk to him first. You have any arrangements for use of a telephone?"

"The one in the Kommandant's office. We distract Klink for a few minutes, get him out of there, and get you inside," replied Hogan.

"And you're sure the Kommandant's phone hasn't been tapped?"

"Well, it has, but only by us." Hogan smirked at the look on Staller's face.

"So the plan is to let the handover go ahead, right, Colonel?" put in Kinch. "And retrieve the envelope when Klink gets back here, like we did before."

"That's the idea, Kinch." Hogan leaned back, folding his arms. "But it won't be as easy as last time. Klink's planning on having a guard in there round the clock until Stieffel comes to collect the report. So we'll need a diversion for that, too."

"Begging pardon, Colonel, but once the report's here, why not just get Carter to put on his Gestapo act and get Klink to hand it over?" suggested Newkirk.

"No," said Hogan. He glanced at Carter, who looked back with a faint, troubled frown, his color rising at the apparent brush-off. It was true, Hogan wasn't completely confident of Carter's ability to pull it off, in view of the stress he was under at present, but that wasn't the deciding factor. "If we did that, Stieffel would be asking a lot of difficult questions when he turned up and found nothing waiting for him. Substituting a report of our own is safer. And that means getting the guard out of the office, so we - that is, you, Newkirk - can get into the safe. Carter..."

Carter straightened up. "Yessir?"

"How are you fixed for smoke bombs?"

"Don't have any right now. But I can make some up real quick. You want delayed action, or...?"

"Nothing elaborate, Carter. Just something that'll make it look a lot worse than it is, when we set fire to the Kommandant's quarters," replied Hogan with a grin.

A laugh went round the barracks. Even Staller joined in, once he'd gotten over the surprise. Carter didn't, but he relaxed into a one-sided half-smile. He might not be completely on the ball elsewhere, but in that field of expertise he was still the first one Hogan turned to.

"First things first," Hogan went on. "And the first thing is...football."


	11. Chapter 11

It was simple enough. During the morning exercise period, all the men were in the yard as a matter of routine, and a soccer match between Barracks 2 and 4, with the goals defined by trash bins placed at either end of the improvised field, was a sure way to create confusion.

Newkirk was playing center, with Carter on his right wing missing three out of every four passes. Mills had never played the game before, but was holding his own in mid-field, and Kellet, whatever other faults he had, proved an effective goalkeeper.

Staller mingled with the spectators, watching as the game, played directly in front of the Kommandant's office, got progressively louder and more out of control. Soon the guards began to take notice, and their efforts to impose order added to the commotion. Klink couldn't help hearing, and before long he came striding forth from his office.

"What is the meaning of all this noise?" he demanded furiously.

"Just a little discussion of the offside rule, Kommandant," said Hogan brightly.

"Hogan, I am trying to work. Can't your men play quietly?"

"Soccer? Oh, come on, Colonel," replied Hogan, with a chuckle. "You can't play soccer and not get a little heated. You're an athletic type, you know that, right?"

"Hogan, I don't...athletic, hmmm, yes..." Klink's tone changed abruptly. "Well...well, as it happens, I did have a bit of a reputation on the sporting field, when I was at university. Not football, of course, but I made quite an impression on the running track. And as for tennis - I almost qualified for Wimbledon, you know."

"I bet he did," murmured Mills.

"Oh, that's our Klink. A legend in his own mind," Newkirk replied.

Hogan was continuing with the distraction process. "Say, I bet you could settle the argument. You've got such a clear, analytical way of looking at things, sir."

"Well, I don't know, Hogan..."

"And we all know how good you are at making decisions," Hogan added. "Isn't that right, fellas?"

"Don't know how he does it, sometimes," said Newkirk innocently. "He's a ruddy marvel, that's what he is."

Unconsciously, Klink straightened up, with the simper that always appeared when he was trying not to show too clearly how astonishing he found it to be receiving flattery. "Well...well, I suppose it's part of my duty towards your men to assist in these matters. What seems to be the problem?"

"It's to do with that last goal," explained Hogan. "We're just not sure whether it counts as offside, if the ball hit Adams by accident, bounced off Carter and went past the goalkeeper. Would you like the guys to show you how it happened...?"

Kinch, standing at the back of the crowd, glanced up at the guard tower to make sure the guard there wasn't watching, then tapped Staller's shoulder and jerked his head towards the office. As they edged away, LeBeau followed them.

They'd lucked out in one way. Fräulein Hilda, the Kommandant's secretary, had her half-day off, and had already left. LeBeau remained in the outer office, ready to delay the Kommandant's return if necessary, while Kinch and Staller went on into the office.

"Okay, you know what to say," said Kinch. "Klink's meeting is at the Hofbrau at seven. You line up your guy to be at the Hauserhof at six-thirty, so he can be clued up. You got the number?"

"Düsseldorf 252," replied Staller. He was looking round nervously. Obviously his previous experience in this line of work hadn't included the kind of risks which at Stalag 13 were considered routine. "Ask for Captain Weber."

Kinch put the call through. It took almost a minute before he got an answer. "Captain Weber?" he said. "One moment, please."

He handed the phone to Staller, and moved to the window, apparently watching in case they needed to get out fast. But his instructions from Hogan had been definite: "Whatever Staller says to his man in Düsseldorf, you're to listen, memorize and report back."

It sounded innocent enough. Even if the phone at the other end was bugged, the Gestapo wouldn't find much to interest them.

"Karl? It's Rolf - Rolf Schnabel, from Hanover...That's right...Yes, it's good to hear your voice, too. It must be...oh, five years since we last met...what's that? Seven? Where does the time go?...Fine, thank you, couldn't be better. And you?...Tell me, how is your sister...?"

Kinch couldn't make out what the voice at the other end of the line was saying, but obviously these guys had devised their codes and passwords very carefully. In spite of his own mistrust of the man, which would have rivaled Hogan's, he had to admit that Staller appeared to know his stuff.

"Listen, Karl," he went on, "I'm going to be in your area tomorrow , and I hoped we might catch up...Hammelburg, on business...well, it's closer than Hanover...yes...yes, at the Hotel Hauserhof...how does around half-past six suit you? Good. I'll see you then..._Auf Wiedersehen_."

He put the receiver down. "He'll be there," he told Kinch.

"Okay." Kinch surveyed the activity in the yard again. The debate over the rules looked to have gone into extra time. "Let's get out of here."

Thirty seconds later, they were back outside, having picked up LeBeau on the way.

"...but if the ball landed on the roof of the Kommandant's office, rolled along the gutter, came down where it's broken, bounced off the well and went between the trash bins - I mean, the goal posts - wouldn't that count?" The question sounded like something Carter would normally throw into the conversation, but it was Mills who was speaking. Kinch had to suppress a sudden pang of resentment. The thought had come uninvited, that Mills had no business doing Carter's job.

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Well, it might, except for two reasons. One, the well is out of bounds, and two, it's at the wrong end of the pitch for us, which would make it an own goal."

"Okay..." Mills began, but Hogan had spotted that the three absentees were back, and moved to bring the discussion to an end.

"Good point, Newkirk. What do you think, Kommandant? After all, nobody knows more about own goals than you do."

"Well, taking everything into consideration, I would say...Hogan!" Klink's measured response broke off in a frustrated growl as the meaning of Hogan's remark filtered through. "Sort it out for yourselves. But do it quietly. Any further disturbance will mean that in future no you and your men will not be allowed any recreational activity more controversial than needlepoint." He swung round and stalked back to the office.

"It's obvious you've never been to an embroidery guild meeting, sir," Hogan called after him. "Okay, men, get on with the game. Quietly."

He headed back to the barracks. Kinch and Staller followed.

"All organized, Colonel," said Kinch, as soon as they were inside. "Weber will be at the Hauserhof at six-thirty tomorrow evening."

"Good," replied Hogan. "Staller, you and I will meet him there, we'll take Newkirk along as backup. Now, last time Klink had a meeting with the Düsseldorf agent, they took roll-call before he left, and he was so anxious not to be late that he headed off an hour before he needed to. Knowing our Kommandant, he's pretty safe to do the same this time, which will give us plenty of time to get into town."

"I'll let Newkirk know," said Kinch. He glanced at Staller, then turned his eyes back to Hogan. There was more he had to say.

Hogan picked up the hint. "Staller, maybe you should go back down below. You never know when one of the guards might decide to do his job properly, and come in on an inspection." He went over to the tunnel entrance and tapped on the release mechanism.

"You guys really are something," observed Staller, pausing at the top of the ladder. "I can't believe we just walked into the Kommandant's office and used his phone."

"Yeah, we're lucky to have Klink in charge of the place," replied Hogan. "If they ever give us a real Kommandant instead of a real idiot, we're in big trouble."

Staller laughed softly, and vanished into the tunnel.

"You know something, Kinch?" Hogan said, in a quiet, even voice. "When I think what that son of a bitch did to Carter, I could happily shoot him. But every so often, I forget and start liking him."

"Yeah, he's got the gift, all right," muttered Kinch. "Colonel, I heard back from London. Lieutenant Mason is listed officially as 'missing'. But there doesn't seem any doubt. His plane was shot down over the Channel. Some of the other flight crews confirmed the plane went down in flames. Nobody could have survived."

It was more or less what Hogan had expected. "Okay, so Staller was on the level about that," he said. "What about Weber?"

"That checks out, too. He was stationed in Potsdam till six months ago, when he transferred to Düsseldorf. He's been one of the most consistently reliable agents in the entire network. Of course, that's no guarantee. But..."

Hogan sighed. "Yep. Chances are he's one of the good guys. And I almost hate to say it, but it's starting to look like maybe Staller is, too."


	12. Chapter 12

Evening roll call was over, and the prisoners had returned to the barracks. For once there was no mission to call Hogan's men out of camp, and most of them took advantage of the opportunity to write letters, play cards or just relax. Kinch headed below to the radio room as normal, and Carter to the laboratory, to put together the smoke bombs that would be needed for the "fire" in Klink's quarters. But they were the only ones down there, apart from Major Staller

Both Newkirk and LeBeau had offered to come to the lab and help, but Carter had turned them down. He had always preferred working alone, he didn't like distractions when he was messing with chemicals. There had been a period, a few weeks ago, when Hogan had issued an order requiring Carter to have someone with him at all times, for his own safety. It had tried everyone's patience, and since it had been lifted, Carter had tried to keep his workshop to himself.

Staller was hanging around at the foot of the ladder. "I've been having a look around," he said.

_Of course you have_, thought Kinch. It was usual, most visitors explored a little when things got dull down here. There was no reason to assume Staller was up to anything. But Kinch made a mental note to mention it to Hogan as soon as he had the chance.

"You've got some set-up," Staller went on. "I've got to take my hat off to Hogan. I thought some of my people were ingenious, but this is fantastic. Tell me, how'd you manage to set up a chemistry workshop down here?"

"You've been in the lab?" Carter, already on his way there, turned back.

Staller's complacency faded. "I just glanced in there. It looked pretty serious, so I thought I should stay out."

"Yeah. You better do that...sir." Carter gave him a long, hostile look, before he headed off.

"Oops. Looks like I stepped on some toes there," murmured Staller.

"He's got some pretty volatile stuff down there," Kinch replied, civil but distant. "He just doesn't want anyone messing around and maybe getting hurt. Same probably applies to some of the other areas down here, too. With respect, Major, maybe you should stick to the guest quarters when you're on your own. You don't want to get lost and find yourself coming up in the wrong part of camp, or something."

Staller flushed, and looked away, then gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Very tactful, Sergeant. It's not often I've been reprimanded so politely. And I haven't been put in my place by an NCO since I made lieutenant. Now it's happened twice in under a minute. That must be some kind of record."

Kinch said nothing, but his gaze didn't falter.

"Tell me something," Staller went on. "Isn't it a bit risky keeping all that stuff underground? What if something goes wrong? I mean, I'm virtually living down here, and I'm starting to wonder if it's safe."

"We got it covered," replied Kinch. "I spend a lot of my time down here, too, so I made sure of it. It's ventilated - there's an air shaft comes up behind the delousing station to clear any fumes that might escape in there. And that whole part of the tunnel has extra support. We've had a couple of little explosions, but it's never collapsed. And it won't."

Staller glanced sideways at him. "Little explosions..."

"Yeah. You can't make your own explosives without an occasional accident. Carter knows what he's doing." Kinch leaned back slightly, meeting the major's eyes fair and square.

He could tell Staller was disconcerted, and it gave him a curious feeling of malicious satisfaction. The major obviously had reservations. Well, so did Kinch, but he wasn't about to say so. Carter might not always be the brightest guy around, but on his own ground there was nobody better. No matter how messed up he might be - and Staller was at least in part responsible for that. Kinch was never going to forget, nor forgive him for it.

The silence that followed lasted long enough to get awkward. Staller, not sure whether to hold his ground or retreat, hesitated uncertainly by the ladder. Kinch picked up the headset, and turned his attention to his work. But both of them were aware of the tension, and both unconsciously drew a sigh of relief when LeBeau descended from above, a basket slung around his shoulder on a piece of string.

"Dinner," he said cheerfully, oblivious to the atmosphere. He dumped the basket on the radio desk.

"Careful, LeBeau," said Kinch.

"Sorry." LeBeau unpacked the basket, and a rich, appetizing aroma filled the air as he removed the lid from a casserole dish, and started ladling out the contents onto tin plates. "You should eat it while it's hot. Major - "

He passed a plate and a fork to Staller, who stood looking at the meal with an air of bemusement.

"Better take it to your quarters, Major," said Kinch. "It's liable to get busy round here." He wasn't really expecting it, not tonight, but Staller grasped the excuse, and made himself scarce.

"What's his problem?" asked LeBeau, jerking his head in the direction Staller had gone.

Kinch didn't answer the question, turning the conversation instead. "You got some for Carter as well? He's already gone down to the lab."

LeBeau shrugged. "I'll leave it here then, he can have it when he's finished."

"Why don't you take it down there for once?" suggested Kinch thoughtfully. "Like you said, probably better while it's hot."

"Are you kidding? He's likely to spill something on it, eat it without thinking, poison himself - and I'll get the blame," replied LeBeau. He was kidding, of course, but he made no move towards delivering the meal. If Carter was already at work, he wouldn't be pleased at the interruption. He'd come when he was ready.

Kinch knew it, and he conceded. "Leave it over there somewhere. I'll see he gets it."

"Okay. You need anything else? Then I'll get back to the barracks. There's a thunderstorm brewing, Newkirk's taking bets on where the first leak in the roof will start." LeBeau grinned, and scurried back up the ladder.

An hour passed, with no activity in the radio room. Carter was still in the lab, and the meal LeBeau had brought for him had cooled and congealed. Nor did Staller show his face again.

Kinch was drowsing, but he woke as Hogan came down the ladder, with a question on his lips: "Any news?"

"No messages, Colonel." Kinch stifled a yawn. "I don't remember the last time it's been this quiet at night. That's for Carter, if he ever surfaces," he added, as Hogan turned a quizzical eye on the dish of cold stew. "It doesn't look too good, does it?"

"No. I don't think he's going to care for it." Hogan's eyebrows drew in. "How long has he been down there?"

"About an hour. He won't be done yet." As Hogan made a move in the direction of the lab, Kinch spoke up again, hurriedly. "He's probably a bit edgy, Colonel. When we got down here..."

The rest of the sentence was forgotten, as a sudden rumbling concussion erupted from the tunnel, bringing down a shower of dirt and debris from above. Both men ducked instinctively. But Hogan was up again within seconds. "Carter..."

He took off at a run towards the lab, with Kinch just behind him. They were met by a haze of smoke and an acrid smell which stung their eyes. A few moments later, Carter emerged, coughing and blinking.

"You okay?" demanded Hogan sharply.

"Sure, Colonel," replied Carter. He leaned against the wall, panting slightly.

"What happened?"

Carter shook his head, as if to clear it. "I, uh...I, well, I kind of..." He trailed off in confusion.

"Carter, you're supposed to be making smoke bombs. How the hell...?"

"What was that?" The interruption came from Staller, as he arrived, breathless and clearly alarmed.

Kinch intercepted the query. "Like I told you, Major, occasionally there's a little explosion down here. Nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to...you gotta be kidding, right?" Staller's eyes went from Kinch to Hogan, and then to Carter. "You telling me this pathetic excuse for a soldier is allowed to..."

"That's enough, Staller." Hogan didn't even turn his head. "You can go back to your quarters, there's nothing to see here. Kinch..." He jerked his head towards the lab.

Before Kinch could take the hint, Carter stammered into speech. "It's okay, Colonel. Everything's safe down there. I just..." He broke off, glancing uncertainly at Staller. "I forgot what I was doing for a second."

Staller snorted. "How often does that happen? You're a mess, Carter. If Hogan didn't feel sorry for you..."

"Staller, did you hear what I said?" Hogan broke in sharply, and this time he did turn.

Staller raised his head slightly, glaring back at him. "Yes, sir," he muttered. He held his ground for a few seconds, but Hogan, after that one scorching look, turned back to Carter.

"Colonel, I better get back and finish the job," said Carter hesitantly. "I'm gonna have to start again, and..."

"No, leave it for now, Carter," replied Hogan. "You're obviously not on the ball tonight." He paused, with a quick glance at Staller, who was still within earshot. "Maybe we should let Mills handle this one."

Carter stared at him, wide-eyed with disbelief. "I can do it, Colonel," he said after a few seconds. "I fouled up once, it won't happen again. It's just smoke bombs, for crying out loud, I can make those in my sleep."

"And apparently that's exactly how you're doing them, Carter." Hogan tilted his head to one side, regarding Carter keenly. After a few seconds of thought, he went on. "Go up to the barracks, get some rest. Tomorrow night, you can have another crack at it - if you're ready to give all your attention to it by then."

"Colonel..."

Carter clearly meant to continue his protest, but broke off as a flurry of footsteps heralded the arrival of Newkirk and LeBeau.

"Blimey, what the hell was that?"

"_Qu'est-ce qui se passe_?"

"It's under control, guys," muttered Kinch. "Just a little mishap in the lab. Nothing serious."

Newkirk drew a deep breath, as much from annoyance as relief. "Carter, one of these days..."

"Okay, let it alone, Newkirk." Hogan cut in quickly. "Did the guards hear anything?"

"There's so much noise outside from the storm, they wouldn't notice a thing," replied LeBeau. "But..."

"Then there's no harm done." Hogan turned back to Carter. "I mean it, Carter. Get going."

"Yes, sir," mumbled Carter, and edged past the others to head for the barracks.

Hogan gazed after him. "LeBeau, go with him, make sure he's not hurt. Kinch, you and Newkirk check the tunnel for damage."

He left them to it, and followed LeBeau. As he reached the radio room, he saw Staller loitering at the entrance to the guest quarters, studying the tunnel roof with a thoughtful frown. At sight of Hogan, he withdrew quickly.

The incident appeared to have unnerved the major. Hogan didn't care about that. But he was aware he'd allowed Staller's presence to influence his own response to Carter's lapse. He wasn't even sure how he would have dealt with the matter if Staller hadn't been there - whether he'd have passed it over as Carter's usual form, or taken firmer measures to ensure there was no repeat performance

One sentence from the outsider kept coming back into his mind: _If Hogan didn't feel sorry for you..._

He was in danger of letting this get too personal. And for everyone's sake - not just Carter's - he had to stay objective. If he was allowing pity to cloud his judgement, then he had to make sure it stopped, right now.


	13. Chapter 13

Just as Hogan had anticipated, the Kommandant called an early roll call before heading into Hammelburg for his rendezvous with the Düsseldorf informer.

Klink's staff car was already waiting for him. At least, there was a staff car waiting, but it wasn't the good car. That was "under repair", which, roughly translated, meant Hogan was using it tonight. So Klink got the back-up car, the one with the hard suspension.

"Which is only right and proper," Newkirk pointed out, as they stood outside the barracks, waiting to be dismissed. "Why should we be the ones to suffer?"

"_Oui_, and it's so much more peaceful round here when Klink's off sick," LeBeau added. "One little compressed spinal disc could lay him up for a week. We owe it to ourselves." He uttered this conclusion with an air of self-righteousness which sent a wave of sniggers through the ranks. The only one who didn't smile was Carter.

He'd been very subdued all day. The accident in the lab, and Staller's comments about the matter, had unsettled him. He knew exactly how it had happened, he could even remember taking down the wrong jar from the old dresser where he stored his chemicals. He would make sure it didn't happen again. But he knew Hogan was worried about it, and was still considering letting Mills take over.

Klink kept them waiting for several minutes. "Must have dropped his monocle behind the chest of drawers again," observed Newkirk sourly.

Hogan nodded, with a smirk. "He might have a bit more consideration. We've got a lot to do tonight, he'll put us behind schedule."

Finally the Kommandant emerged from his office, and strode across the compound, calling for Schultz's report.

"All present and accounted for," responded Schultz cheerfully. It was always a good day for him when nothing out of the ordinary occurred at roll call.

"Thank you, Schultz." Klink straightened up, and regarded the prisoners with a smirk. "Now, men, you will have noticed that I am going out of camp this evening."

The men responded with a raucous cheer. Klink shook his head, tilting it to one side, the smile not wavering. "Oh, I'm sure that pleases you. However, I will only be gone for a few hours." Boos and catcalls greeted this news. "I will be transacting some very important - and very secret - military business, which I'm sure you would be most interested to hear about. But you won't."

_Bless his little cotton swastika_, thought Hogan. _Couldn't keep a secret if they sewed his lips together._

"During my absence," Klink went on, "you will be under the eagle-eyed supervision of Sergeant Schultz."

Even Carter had to smile at that. Every other man was almost in hysterics, but the Kommandant chose to disregard their ill-placed hilarity.

"And if he has any report to make to me regarding misdemeanors, punishment will be meted out. So be warned. Dismissed."

Klink turned on his heel and stalked across to the waiting car, with Schultz following in his heels, trying to get ahead to open the door for his Kommandant. It was inevitable that Klink would stop in his tracks to let Schultz past, and equally destined that Schultz would fail to notice. The prisoners, watching the resultant minor catastrophe, set up another cheer.

"Looks like old eagle-eye Schultz could use stronger glasses," remarked Hogan. "Okay, men, let's go. It's starting to rain again. We don't want to catch cold."

He followed his men back into the barracks, and went straight to the tunnel entrance, knowing Newkirk would follow him. Descending to the lower level, he found Staller loitering near the radio room. Even by the dim light of the lamps around the walls, he could tell the major was not happy.

"Trouble, Staller?" he asked.

"Thought I heard some noises," replied Staller. He seemed a little agitated. "Sounded like something falling down, somewhere near my quarters. You sure that blast yesterday didn't shake anything loose?"

Newkirk, jumping down from the second last rung, laughed. "You don't want to be nervous about noises down here, Major," he said cheerfully. "There's always noises. It'll just be the soil settling, or the timbers, or an echo from some other part of the tunnels. Or it might be rats. We get a few down here. It's warmer than the barracks, you know."

"Okay, Newkirk, that'll do," said Hogan. "Go and get ready, and don't take too long about it. Then you can go and pick up the car, and meet us on the road."

He turned back to Staller. "Newkirk's right. You hear all kinds of things in the tunnels. Doesn't mean it's going to collapse. The guys gave it all a thorough inspection last night, they'd know if there was a problem."

He looked over his shoulder. Kinch had just arrived at the foot of the ladder. He glanced at Staller, then went to the radio.

Another dim figure descending from above proved to be Carter, coming down with his usual graceless haste. He reddened at sight of Staller, and looked away.

"Just going to fix up those smoke bombs, Colonel," he mumbled.

Staller gave a half-suppressed snort, and Hogan turned swiftly to glare at him. "You got something caught in your throat, Major?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

"No, sir, just something I was thinking. Probably nothing you want to hear," said Staller, meeting Hogan's eyes without flinching. "You seem convinced Carter's fit for duty. I've got my own opinion about whether he's fit for any useful purpose. But I'm sure you know best."

The silence that followed almost crackled with tension. Kinch's hands clenched instinctively, as he calculated how many steps he would need to take to get within punching distance. Carter drew back slightly, the color draining from his face. Staller had spoken plainly enough the night before, in the heat of the moment. But this was cold.

"Thank you for your candor, Major," said Hogan, as calmly as if they'd been discussing the weather forecast. "Carter, go and start work. I want those bombs ready by the time I get back."

After a few seconds, Carter took a deep breath. "Yes, sir," he murmured, and moved off towards the lab. He stopped where the tunnel branched off. "I won't let you down this time, Colonel," he said, before he went out of sight.

"Staller, that was unacceptable," said Hogan, still in the same even tone. "In future, as long as you're under my orders, if you have concerns about one of my men - _any_ of my men - you bring them to me privately, rather than airing them in public. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," muttered Staller.

"Good. You can wait in your quarters till I come for you. Dismissed, Major." Hogan moved away, picking up the notebook from the radio desk and studying the message scrawled on the open page. Staller hesitated, then turned and left.

"Man, he is something else," said Kinch softly.

Hogan didn't comment. He'd have more to say to Staller at some stage, but no good purpose would be served by tearing a strip off the major in the presence of a subordinate. Nor was there any benefit to be had from engaging in any kind of discussion just before setting out on a mission.

"I don't expect to be late getting back, Kinch," said Hogan at last. "Keep an eye on Carter, but don't make too much of it. Let him do his work."

"Colonel," Kinch began, "you don't think maybe...I mean, he's probably a little off-balance after last night. Perhaps it would be smarter to let someone else handle it."

He half-expected to receive the same response as Staller had, but Hogan had regained his balance. "You heard what he said, Kinch. He'll get the job done. Let him have this one."

Kinch nodded. "Okay. Take care out there."

Whatever anger Hogan was still carrying, he managed to get it under control by the time he'd changed into civilian clothes and made his way to Staller's temporary quarters. The major appeared to have done some damage control on his own part.

"Colonel, I was out of line just now," he said, as soon as Hogan appeared. "I had no right to say what I did, and I owe Carter an apology."

That was unexpected, and cut the ground very neatly from under Hogan's feet. He didn't let it show, but it added a few unreasonable degrees to his vexation. "I think you'd better let it go. You've already said enough," he replied curtly.

Staller sighed. "Look, I know I overstepped the mark. But please, for the sake of your whole operation here, at least think about whether the best man to have making explosives is the one who may have been suicidal, not so long ago."

Hogan became very still. "Staller, you're on very thin ice right now," he said softly. "I suggest you be very careful where you step." He held Staller's gaze for several seconds, until the major flushed and looked away. "We'd better get going. We're already running late."

He headed off towards the emergency exit, leaving Staller to follow. For now, with the night's mission already under way, there was nothing more he was prepared to say about the matter. But Staller's gall in raising the matter was almost beyond belief.

Carter wasn't a danger to himself, not in that way, not now. But if he ever had been - and Hogan had reason to believe it - Staller was at least in part responsible.


	14. Chapter 14

There was little conversation on the way to Hammelburg. Neither Hogan nor Staller felt they had anything further to discuss, and Newkirk, perhaps unconsciously, responded to the chilly atmosphere. He had to concentrate on the driving anyway, it wasn't that easy. Just enough rain had fallen to leave the road shiny and slippery, and it was in such poor condition that even if it had been dry it would have been difficult.

"Klink must have had a right old doing, getting over this lot in that old banger," he remarked, after they'd negotiated a particularly rough section. "Tell you what, Colonel, these Krauts ought to do something about the state of their roads."

"To be fair, Newkirk, it was our side that bombed this stretch," replied Hogan, making an effort to keep it light. "And if I remember rightly, you were part of the work detail that repaired it."

"Well, yes, but I didn't know I'd have to drive on it, did I? Otherwise I'd have made a better job of it." Newkirk broke off abruptly as they hit another bump. Then he went on. "You know, I reckon Klink'll be flat on his back for a month, at least. So some good'll come of it, anyway."

"Not really," said Hogan. "If Klink's off sick for that long, Gruber takes charge. We've just gotten Klink well-trained, we don't want to have to break in a replacement, even if he is only temporary."

He looked at his watch. "Any chance we can get the lead out? I'd like to reach Hammelburg before I get too old for this line of work."

Newkirk smirked, and put his foot down.

The staff car wasn't the most inconspicuous of vehicles. To avoid the risk of Klink spotting it and recognizing it as his own, Hogan directed Newkirk to park it in a back street, not far from the hotel, and walked the short distance through a fine, misty shower of rain.

"Newkirk, you wait outside," said Hogan quietly, as they approached the entrance to the Hauserhof. "I'll go in with Staller."

"That figures," muttered Newkirk. But he did as he was ordered, standing with his hands in his pockets, gazing at the passing traffic as if waiting for someone, while Hogan and Staller went on inside.

The Hauserhof was one of Hammelburg's busiest hotels, which made it ideal for meetings of this kind. Without exactly being crowded, the foyer had just enough comings and goings to make it easy getting in and out without attracting attention.

Hogan stopped just inside the door, scanning the place, trying to pick out their contact. It was pretty easy, as there were few men in Luftwaffe uniform. Of these, only one was a captain, a fair-haired young man absorbed in reading the local newspaper.

"That your man?" murmured Hogan.

Staller nodded. "Yes, that's Karl," he replied. He hesitated, then went ahead of Hogan to approach the man, who looked up with a boyish smile, folded his newspaper and stood up to shake hands. Hogan, regarding the man critically, concluded that he must be getting old, when the Underground contacts started looking like they had scarcely reached their teens.

It wasn't much of an exaggeration. Karl Weber appeared absurdly young to be in uniform. He was shorter than Staller, not excessively, but enough so that he had to tilt his head back slightly in order to look the major in the eye. There was an engaging air of bashful candor about him, but Hogan wasn't about to let appearances shape his conclusions about the man. Since he'd been at Stalag 13 he'd met plenty of nice young men who turned out to be not so trustworthy, not even counting Staller's easy charm and hidden ruthlessness.

Nevertheless, he responded pleasantly enough, as Weber, after a few words with Staller, came forward to meet him. "Rolf has told me about you, sir," he said, with a natural shy eagerness. "I'm glad to make your acquaintance."

"The feeling is mutual, Captain," murmured Hogan. "It's always a pleasure to talk to our boys in service."

They were speaking German, of course, but Hogan could detect no hesitation in Weber's speech, nor the slightest trace of foreign accent. Either he was indeed a native speaker, or he'd had one hell of a training course.

"Perhaps we could find somewhere quieter, and catch up," Staller put in. His German was pretty good, too, though not up to the same standard. "Herr Hoganfelder, would you care to join us?"

"I'd be delighted," replied Hogan. He cast a look around the foyer, as if he was in an unfamiliar place. "Isn't that the bar over there? Allow me to buy you a drink, gentlemen."

"Oh, please, sir," Weber protested. "You must allow me..."

"No, Captain, I insist." Hogan spoke mildly, but with decision.

Business in the bar was slow, so early in the evening, and they had no trouble finding a table in the corner. Drinks were ordered, and conversation remained general until the waiter had served them. Hogan counted it another point in Weber's favor that he drank beer, as Hogan did himself. Staller took a small cognac. It was hard not to think the worse of him for it.

Once they were sure of not being overheard, Hogan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and locking his fingers together. "Weber, you've got a problem in your organization," he said quietly.

Weber's expression didn't change, but to a keen observer his sudden tension was obvious. "What kind of problem?"

"The worst. Someone on the inside is feeding information to the Gestapo." Hogan noted the flush of color rising in Weber's face. "So far we've managed to intercept it. Never mind how. But the leak needs to be stopped."

"I understand," replied Weber. "Do you know who...?"

"Not yet. But we're hoping to get that information tonight." Hogan paused for a moment, debating with himself how much he should tell Weber. He decided to take no chances. "The man passes his information through the Kommandant of the local Luftstalag, a Colonel Klunk - no, sorry, I mean Klink."

Staller gave him a quick sharp glance, and bit his lower lip. But Hogan pressed on. "According to our sources, Klink is meeting the guy tonight, at a local tavern. What we'd like to do is have you there as well, and see if you recognize him. Then we can either deal with him from here, or your people at Düsseldorf can do the job."

There was a long silence while Weber thought about it. Then he looked up, with a slight crease in his forehead. "I have already seen someone here," he said, in a low voice. "One of our people. But I can't believe it of him."

"Who was it?" asked Hogan.

"His name is Josef Pitz. He is a delivery driver, he does a lot of work out of town." Weber's frown deepened. "It's very useful for us. But..."

"But useful for them, too," Staller put in, dropping into English. Both Hogan and Weber looked at him, and he flushed.

"Did he see you?" Hogan asked.

"He may have. And he would know me on sight." Weber folded his hands together on the table top. "It is possible that he's here by chance. His work takes him all over this part of Germany."

"Which would be handy for him, if he's a double agent," observed Hogan, considering the problem. "Let's play it safe. You'll wait outside the Hofbrau with me, and see if this guy Pitz turns up. Staller, you and Newkirk will be inside, keeping watch on Klink."

Staller looked as if he didn't care for the assignment, but he didn't argue. "If it is Pitz, what then? If he recognizes Karl..."

"What if he does?" Weber interrupted. "He would have no reason to think anything of it. My work also requires a certain amount of travel, it might well bring me to Hammelburg."

"Maybe. But it might also make him nervous." Hogan pinched his bottom lip. "In which case he may decide to bypass Klink and go straight to his Gestapo handlers."

"If that's likely, Karl, you'll be at risk. You better not go back to Düsseldorf," Staller added.

Weber shook his head. "No. I will go back tonight. If there is any threat to our people there, I have a duty to warn them."

"You also have a duty not to get caught," observed Hogan, regarding Weber with a more approving eye than he had before. The young man's determination struck a chord with him, it was exactly how Hogan himself would respond to a similar danger.

"I will not get caught," said Weber. "I have been doing this for a long time, sir. But if there is any difficulty, I may need to contact you. How can I reach you?"

"Do you have a short-wave radio? I'll give you our emergency frequency, and a recognition code." Hogan didn't say any more. He might be more favorably impressed with Staller's man in Düsseldorf than he had expected, but that didn't mean he was letting his guard down just yet.

He checked his watch again. "It's almost time. We'd better make a move."

As they headed for the street, Staller caught Hogan's arm for a moment, allowing Weber to draw ahead a little. "You're playing some funny kind of game here, Hogan. Seems to me like you don't really trust me or Weber. What's the deal?"

"The deal is, in this business we don't take too many people on trust," replied Hogan, with one eye on Weber. "Don't get me wrong, I'm prepared to give any man a chance to prove himself, but Weber's starting with a big handicap - you, Staller."

Staller went red. "I guess I don't get given any chances, right?"

"Wrong. You already had yours," said Hogan. He remained outwardly calm, but his voice was cold. "You had it a year ago, at 182 Squadron. And you blew it, Major."


	15. Chapter 15

In spite of good intentions, Carter found it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.

It had taken a good part of the day to get the lab cleaned up, even with some of the other guys lending a hand. Carter had a feeling he'd have been better off doing it alone. Although the lab appeared more often than not to operate on the basis of total chaos, he actually had it very precisely organized, using a system that was more instinctive than rational, but which worked for him. Nobody else had a clue how it worked. So he'd spent most of the afternoon rearranging things that had been put in the wrong places. Even now, he had a vague sense that something wasn't quite right about it.

It didn't help, knowing Staller had been in here the day before. Even if he hadn't touched anything, he'd probably had a good look round, and Carter could just picture the contempt with which he would have viewed the apparent disorder.

Of course, how the lab was maintained was no business of Staller's. But Carter still felt sick when he thought about it. If the major needed anything more to justify the opinions he'd been throwing around, he would have found it right here.

_Maybe I should fix it up better_. The thought came to mind even while Carter was getting his materials together. Because of the difficulty in obtaining some standard ingredients on account of wartime shortages, he had devised a couple of recipes of his own for home-made smoke bombs. He'd made them so often that he could generally put his hands on the right chemicals without even thinking about it. But last night's mistake, and Staller's remarks about it, had brought him up short.

He knew he wasn't incompetent, but maybe he'd gotten careless, which was almost as bad.

"In fact, it's probably worse," he said aloud.

"What's worse?" asked Kinch, from the entrance. Carter hadn't noticed him there, and he jumped, and dropped the crucible he'd just picked up. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," added Kinch.

"Yeah. Sure." Carter picked up the crucible, and inspected it for damage.

"You okay?"

"Fine. I'm fine," replied Carter. The crucible wasn't cracked. He put it down, and began rummaging amongst the clutter on the workbench, avoiding Kinch's eye. "What d'you want, Kinch?"

"Just checking how things are going," murmured Kinch.

"Haven't started yet." Carter looked at his watch. He'd been down here for nearly an hour and had nothing to show for it. "Had to finish clearing up," he added, by way of excuse.

"Uh-huh," murmured Kinch, glancing around at the mess. "You sure you don't need a hand with getting everything straight?"

Carter gave him a puzzled look. "I already finished that."

"Okay, if you say so." Kinch came over to the workbench. For a couple of minutes he stood watching while Carter worked.

"Is there something you want, Kinch?" said Carter at last.

Kinch leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the benchtop. "Yeah, there is. I've been thinking about last night."

"What about it?" Carter murmured, looking sideways at him.

There was a long pause before Kinch replied. "Staller told us he'd been poking round the place," he said at last. "He said he'd just looked in here, but he didn't touch anything. What if he did?"

"You mean...?"

"I mean, what if that accident wasn't an accident?"

Carter sighed. "It was an accident, Kinch. You want to know exactly how I fouled up? I forgot what I was supposed to be doing, and started making explosives instead of smoke bombs, and the mixture was all wrong, so up she went. That's all."

"Okay. Only it seems like Staller's spent his whole time here trying to undermine you with the colonel," said Kinch. "I just wondered if maybe he helped things along a little."

"He wouldn't know how," replied Carter, with a scornful sniff. "The guy doesn't know enough chemistry to mix a drink, let alone set up an explosion. Unless he used dynamite, which he didn't."

"You're sure?"

"I can tell the difference, you know," Carter flashed back irritably. "Just by the smell of the stuff, I can tell. Plus it's a completely different kind of blast, would have done a lot more damage. You set off dynamite in here, nobody would be walking out." After a moment he added, "Anyway, since when did I need any help to make a mess of things?"

"You're not that bad, Carter." Kinch straightened up, frowning. "I still think I should tell the colonel Staller was down here. I meant to last night, but with one thing and another, it slipped my mind."

"You mean, because I blew up the lab?"

"There was a lot going on," Kinch replied evasively. After a moment, he added, "I guess if Staller had done anything, he wouldn't be dumb enough to admit he'd been in here."

He contemplated the thought, then put it aside. "I better get back to the radio. You sure you don't need anything?"

Carter grunted distractedly, without looking up. Taking that as dismissal, Kinch left.

As soon as he was out of sight, Carter stopped what he was doing, his mind seizing on the new ideas Kinch had left behind. The suggestion that Staller might go beyond mere criticism, that he might even sabotage Carter's work, had come as something of a shock. But he didn't buy it, he knew how it had happened. Anyway, there was no reason why Staller would want to do something like that. He had nothing to gain by it, and it didn't seem possible that he'd jeopardize his mission, and the safety of his agent in Düsseldorf, out of simple malice.

But those things he'd been saying, that was a whole different matter. Carter had felt sick, every time he thought about them. Maybe he had gotten the whole thing wrong. Staller must have felt pretty cheap, when he found Carter here, and realized what Hogan thought about the whole situation. Maybe he thought that by making Carter look bad, it would make his own actions look better. Or maybe it was just spite. Either way, it looked like Kinch wasn't falling for it, and Colonel Hogan hadn't, either.

After a while, Carter got back on with his work, still mulling over this new point of view. He fetched the big glass jar of nitrate from its place in the glass-fronted cabinet along the back wall, where he kept the more volatile materials. There was scarcely room for it on the workbench, but he managed to push a few things aside to clear a space for it.

It still didn't seem right, somehow. Staller was a smart guy, he must know Hogan wasn't going to go for it. So maybe the explosion yesterday had really scared him. Carter, measuring out the white powder into a beaker, gave a soft, malicious snigger at the idea. At least he'd given the guy something to worry about.

He reached for the flask where he'd already mixed the other ingredients, went to pour it into the beaker – and froze. Then, very carefully, he put the flask down, on the other side of the workbench.

He'd just nearly done it again. In fact, he'd nearly done something much worse. The white crystals in that beaker were not potassium nitrate, but something considerably less stable, something they'd swiped from a chemical lab a few months ago, and which he was still experimenting with. If he'd added his special fuel-moderant mixture, the reaction would have been immediate and violent. Even the fumes from the mixture might have been enough to set it off. That wasn't so bad, though. What made it worse was that the jar from which the stuff had come was still sitting open on the workbench. The first reaction might have been enough to set that off as well. And if that had happened…

"Oh, boy," muttered Carter. He tried to pick up the beaker, to put the powder back into the jar, but his hands were shaking too much. He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.

"Carter…?"

He almost jumped out of his skin. He hadn't realized Mills was at the entrance to the lab.

"You okay?" he added, looking at Carter with wide, startled eyes.

Carter couldn't find his voice for a couple of seconds. "For Pete's sakes, Mills," he got out at last, "why'd you sneak up on a guy like that? You want to cause an accident or something?"

"Sorry, I just…" Mills' voice trailed off, as he caught sight of the big glass jar on the bench. "Uh…Kinch told me to come and see how things were going."

"Well, they'll go a lot better if you guys don't keep coming in and bothering me," Carter snapped.

"Yeah, right. Sorry," said Mills again. He hesitated, then added, "Are you using that?"

Carter felt himself going red. "You got a problem with it?" he asked.

"Well…well, it's pretty volatile…" Mills broke off again, flushing in turn. He might not be as competent a chemist as Carter, but he knew a fair bit for an amateur, and he'd been in on some of Carter's experiments with the new compound.

"You saying I don't know what I'm doing?" Carter straightened up. Even if he had messed up again, no way was he admitting it to Mills, anyway.

"No," replied Mills after a pause. "I'm just saying, there's safer ways to make a smoke bomb."

"Okay, when it's your turn to make 'em, you can make 'em any way you want," said Carter.

Mills took a step backwards. "Sure," he murmured uneasily.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Neither of them was sure what to do next. Mills was clearly deeply apprehensive, not to mention scared, but he made no move towards retreat. It made things awkward. Carter had no intention of backing down, but going ahead with the mixture would be suicide. He moved a few things around, trying to look busy, hoping Mills would take the hint.

"You don't have to stick around here, you know," he said at last.

Mills shrugged, trying to appear relaxed, and failing. "I don't mind," he replied, not taking his eyes off the jar of white powder.

"Well, I do." Carter pushed a tripod to one side, and it fell to the floor. "I'm trying to work here, you sure aren't helping. You know what, pal? You're starting to give me the creeps, hanging around all the time."

He spoke at random, too desperate to get Mills out of the lab to think about what he was saying, or how it sounded. But Mills' eyes snapped towards him, wide and startled. He tried to speak, then closed his mouth, shaking his head in disbelief. Then without a word he turned and left.

He stopped a little way along the tunnel, and leaned against the wall. For a couple of minutes he just stayed there, breathing hard, his lips occasionally twitching as he fought down his anger. That had hurt, and from Carter of all people, had been completely unexpected.

Then from behind him he heard Carter's voice, nervous and tentative. "Hey, Mills? Look, buddy, that crack I just made…"

Mills straightened up, and turned to answer. But he never got the words out. Likewise, he never saw the flash of light from the lab. All he was aware of was the shock of concussive force which threw him to the floor, and the deep, almost elemental wave of sound that filled the tunnel. Instinctively he curled up, covering his head in a desperate bid to protect himself

The vibrations died away into a shocking silence. Slowly, Mills lifted his head, blinking as dust and grit got into his eyes. The air was thick with it, he couldn't see more than a couple of feet. Carter wasn't within sight, nor could Mills hear any sound from him. But he heard something else, as if from a great distance - the low rumble of collapsing earth, from somewhere in the tunnels.


	16. Chapter 16

The underground explosion was powerful enough to loosen some of the roof panels in Barracks 2. Every man in the barracks ducked for cover, as a shower of dust and dislodged nails fell on them.

They'd heard plenty of loud noises from beneath the earth before, but never anything on this scale.

LeBeau, thrown off balance, grabbed at the edge of the table to steady himself. The mug of coffee in his hand went flying, although he managed to keep hold of the coffee pot. For three seconds he was too shocked to move, then he dived for the tunnel entrance.

"Someone watch the door," he threw over his shoulder, as the rest of the men followed.

The bunk over the tunnel started to rise, then stuck, and LeBeau spat out a few French curses as he slammed his fist against the edge. With a jerk, the bunk dropped again.

"_Non, mais que c'est foutu, ce truc d'enfer_." The words exploded from LeBeau as he went to hit it again.

The man at the door interrupted. "Schultz is coming. And he's really moving."

LeBeau swung round. "Everyone, look natural," he hissed. He was desperate to get below, but Schultz had to be dealt with first. Hogan, Kinch, Newkirk, none of them were available. It was up to him and the half-dozen men in the barracks.

They responded instantly, and within moments every man was doing something - reading a letter, inspecting a shirt for loose buttons, combing his hair. LeBeau scrabbled on the floor for the tin mug he'd dropped, and when Schultz burst in he was pouring coffee with a steady hand.

"Hi, Schultz, what's up?" he said casually.

Schultz was clearly agitated, his steel helmet askew, his rifle upside-down. "Did you hear that terrible noise? What was it?"

LeBeau shrugged. "I didn't hear anything. Did anyone else hear it?"

"How could you not hear it? I thought it was a bomb, it was so loud." Schultz gazed around, wide-eyed. The prisoners gazed back, each man a perfect illustration of bewildered curiosity.

"Sorry, Schultz," said LeBeau after a moment. "You sure you didn't dream it?"

"No. I was on patrol."

"Like I said," murmured LeBeau with a smirk, "maybe you were dreaming."

"Jolly joker," growled Schultz. "I do not sleep on patrol. Well, not very often."

"I heard a couple of planes go over," offered one of the others. "Sounded like Heinkels. Maybe they let one drop."

"I didn't hear any planes." Schultz turned a suspicious look on the man.

"You didn't?" LeBeau shook his head sadly. "No wonder you never know what's going on. Schultz, you should learn to pay attention."

"No, but wait a minute. Why would our own planes drop a bomb on us?"

"Accidents will happen," replied LeBeau.

Schultz wavered. "I think maybe there is monkey business going on. Now, sometimes I look the other way, because I hate to be a tattletale, but explosions I can not overlook. Not more than once, anyway. So tell Colonel Hogan from me...where is Colonel Hogan, anyway? And where is Newkirk, and where is..." He trailed off, looking around the room, suddenly aware the present headcount was only about half the full complement of the barracks. "Where are the rest of them?"

"Philosophy club meeting." LeBeau brought the lie out with perfect sincerity. A second later, he felt like slapping himself in the head. _Philosophy club...?_

"Philosophy club?" The tone of Schultz's voice was an exact match to LeBeau's mental self-reproof. "You're telling me Newkirk is interested in philosophy?"

"It's a great way to meet girls," said Adams, still at the door.

"And just where is this philosophy club meeting being held?" inquired Schultz, still skeptical.

"You sure you want to know, Schultz?" LeBeau met the sergeant's sarcasm with a sweet smile, and a gleam in his eye. He needed to wind this up, and to that end Schultz had to be hurried along.

He responded just as he was expected to. "No. I don't want to know anything. Just tell Colonel Hogan that if he must have explosions in camp, don't let the Kommandant hear them."

"All right, Schultz. But you know, there's a school of thought that says everything that is going to happen is predestined. So if the Kommandant is meant to hear them..."

Schultz interrupted this promising line of discussion. "And no philosophy in the barracks, _verstanden_?"

"_Verstanden_," agreed LeBeau.

With a grumble of frustration, Schultz straightened his helmet, shouldered his rifle and left the barracks. The men waited five seconds, then there was a rush for the tunnel again.

"Get it open," LeBeau snapped. "I don't care how, just get it open."

* * *

Kinch raced through the tunnel towards the lab. He'd grabbed a flashlight automatically as he left the radio room, but it was little help in the thick atmosphere close to the source of the blast, and he didn't see Mills till he ran into him.

They both fell hard, but Kinch was quickly up again. "You okay?"

"I think so," croaked Mills. "Carter..."

"The lab?"

"No. He'd just come out of there." Mills coughed. "He was..." He broke off, and started forward through the choking dust. Kinch kept close, and a few seconds later he saw Mills drop to one knee.

Carter lay motionless, close to the wall, covered with earth and debris. Kinch stooped to shine the flashlight on his face, but there was no sign of consciousness, or even of life. His head was cut open across the forehead, but there was no outward sign of other injuries. They turned him over on to his back, and Mills bent closer, trying to find a pulse, then in desperation leaned forward and put his ear to Carter's chest. Then he looked up and nodded. "He's alive."

"We better get him out of this. Wait," Kinch interrupted himself. "The lab."

"I'll go." Mills was on his feet at once.

"Take the light. And be careful."

Mills caught the flashlight as Kinch tossed it to him, and disappeared, while Kinch turned his attention to Carter. Urgent as it was to get him to safety, it had to be done without exacerbating any internal injuries he might have suffered. From what Kinch had been able to see, there wasn't much risk of the tunnel collapsing here, although the sounds he'd heard immediately after the explosion suggested that further along the roof supports might have failed. As long as there was no immediate danger, it was better to wait for help to arrive from the barracks before he tried to move his injured friend.

Most of the lights had gone out, and without the flashlight it was almost pitch dark. All the men dreaded the thought of being trapped down here without light, Kinch no less than anyone, but he forced himself to ignore it, and stayed where he was, one hand on Carter's shoulder, the other carefully brushing back the strands of hair that had fallen forward onto the wound on Carter's head.

It was a few minutes, but seemed hours, before he heard running footsteps, and saw the half-obscured flashlight beams of approaching help. "Over here," he called, the words catching in his throat with the dust.

"Kinch - _Carter_!" LeBeau landed almost on top of them, breathless. "Is he...?"

"He's alive, but I don't know how badly he's hurt," said Kinch rapidly. "We need a medic." One of the men went on the word.

LeBeau remained speechless, crouched at Kinch's shoulder, his eyes fixed on Carter.

"You others, check the roof, make sure it's safe. And someone better go to the lab," Kinch went on. "Mills went to check if everything was safe, and he hasn't come back."

LeBeau made no response, but a couple of the others slipped past and headed towards the lab. They had hardly started, when one of them gave a shout. "There he is."

Mills emerged from the dust haze, supporting another man. As the others rushed to his assistance, Kinch rose to his feet, leaving Carter to LeBeau's care. "Kellet? What the hell are you doing - never mind." He strode over as the other men moved to take Kellet's weight off Mills' shoulders.

Kellet was groaning, and favoring one leg, but Kinch ignored him. "You hurt?" he demanded of Mills, who once free had staggered a little, grasping his left shoulder with the opposite hand, and grimacing in pain.

"Nothing serious. The tunnel to Barracks 5 has fallen in," replied Mills breathlessly. "I had to dig that out from under it," with a jerk of his head towards Kellet. "One of the roof beams came down, and I didn't get out of the way quick enough. The lab's safe," he added, almost as an afterthought, "but you can write off everything in there."

"Okay, take it easy. Some of you guys, get these two up to the barracks. But the medic comes here first, understood?" Kinch relinquished Mills to the other men, and went back to Carter.

Another rumbling crash from the tunnel beyond the lab caused him to duck, trying to shield LeBeau and Carter from any falling debris. "Looks like they got out of there just in time," he murmured. "What was Kellet doing down there, anyway?"

LeBeau still didn't answer. His whole attention was focused on the unconscious man.

"He'll be okay, LeBeau," Kinch added. "How many times has he blown himself up, and come out without a scratch?"

LeBeau gave a little sigh. "Maybe this is when that changes," he whispered. And Kinch, looking down at Carter's face, expressionless under the dust and grime, felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, as he started to wonder if LeBeau might just be right.


	17. Chapter 17

Silently, like shadows among the trees, Hogan and Staller made their way through the woods towards the emergency tunnel entrance.

Newkirk was returning the car to the motor pool, and would make his own way from there back to the barracks. It was a relief to all three, when he dropped them off. He hadn't said anything, but he had to be aware of the tension between the two officers.

Karl Weber had not returned with them, holding fast to his intention to return to Düsseldorf and warn his Underground colleagues of the traitor within their midst. As agreed, Hogan had given him the radio frequency and a code word, so he could contact them if he needed help. It was risky, but Weber had been an agent for long enough to know how to take care of himself.

He was probably right, too. The double agent hadn't turned up for his meeting with Klink. It looked like he had spotted Weber, after all, and had been spooked. If that was the case, things were likely to get very warm in Düsseldorf in the next couple of days.

Hogan came to a halt, within sight of the tree stump. There was no sign of anything unusual within the camp. The lights were out in all the barracks, the guards were walking their usual patrols, while the spotlights on the sentry towers made slow passes across the compound and the surrounding area. Everything seemed in order.

He sent Staller down the ladder first, and followed a few seconds later. He was only a couple of feet down when he sensed that something was wrong. He couldn't say what it was that tipped him off. There was something in the smell of the earth, something about the noise of his feet against the rungs of the ladder, something slightly different to what he was used to. By the time he reached the foot of the ladder and found Kinch waiting, he already knew.

"Cave-in?" he asked tersely.

"That's part of it," replied Kinch with equal brevity. "There was an accident in the lab."

"Carter?"

"The medic's still with him. We moved him up to your quarters. The tunnel to Barracks 5 collapsed, we almost lost Mills and Kellet down there."

Hogan wasted no time. He pushed past Kinch and headed for the barracks. Kinch waited for Staller to follow before he brought up the rear.

The major stopped abruptly as they reached the junction with the branch tunnel leading to Barracks 5. The air seemed thicker here, and weighed down by the smell of freshly exposed earth mixed with the lingering dust and smoke particles from the explosion.

"I thought you said Carter's little explosions didn't cause any cave-ins," he said, his voice catching in his throat.

"I don't remember saying it was an explosion," Kinch threw back at him.

"It's pretty damned obvious, isn't it?"

"Okay, hold it, both of you." Hogan interrupted. "Kinch, are the guest quarters safe?"

Kinch hesitated. "Probably better if the major comes up to the barracks," he replied at last.

There was obviously more to this, but Kinch wasn't prepared to talk in front of Staller. Hogan let it go for now, and started up the ladder.

The atmosphere in the barracks was sombre. As it was past lights out, the hut was in darkness, but Hogan could just make out that Mills was sitting on his bunk, leaning against one of the posts, with a couple of the other men standing by. He didn't bother checking on Kellet, but went on into his office.

LeBeau, standing by the bunk holding a flashlight, looked up as the colonel appeared, and Wilson, the camp medic, turned his head briefly. "It's not as bad as it could have been," he said, anticipating Hogan's query. "As far as I can tell, anyway. He won't let me examine him. Can you talk some sense into him, Colonel? LeBeau tried, but he won't listen."

So Carter had come round, anyway. That was something. But under the circumstances, it would probably have been better if he'd stayed unconscious until Wilson had finished checking him out. Hogan moved towards the bunk, displacing LeBeau from his post at the bedside.

Carter had withdrawn to the far side of the bunk, close to the wall. A strip of gauze, held in place with tape, covered some kind of injury just below his hairline. There was a dazed, half-panicked look about him, as if he didn't know where he was or what had happened.

"Carter." Hogan spoke very quietly. "It's okay. Wilson just needs to check whether you're hurt."

Carter's eyes flickered slightly, and he shook his head. "I'm fine." He glanced towards the door. Kinch had followed Hogan into the office, but Carter didn't even look at him. Instead his gaze fixed on Staller, who was peering round the edge of the door. Carter's lips closed tightly, and a dark flush chased the pallor from his face.

"Kinch, can you show Major Staller the spare bunk?" said Hogan quickly. "LeBeau, why don't you make coffee? I think a few people need it."

"_Oui, colonel_," murmured LeBeau. He handed the flashlight over and slipped out, leaving only Hogan and the medic in attendance.

Carter slumped, his resistance dropping away as soon as the room was cleared. "Colonel..." he began. A few seconds later, he tried again. "Colonel..."

"Take it easy, Carter," said Hogan. "Just let Wilson give you the once over, and then you can rest up."

After a moment, Wilson leaned forward. "I'm just going to have a look under your shirt, Carter." He waited for a few seconds before he started the examination, and this time Carter submitted. If Wilson was aware of the tension in his patient's body, he didn't say anything, and he made it quick.

"You know something, Carter? You gotta be about the luckiest man around," he said when he finished. "Whatever kind of providence watches out for explosives experts must work overtime when it comes to you."

"Yeah. Lucky," mumbled Carter. "Real lucky."

Wilson straightened up, and glanced at Hogan, raising his eyebrows. He wasn't stupid, he knew something was up, but he wouldn't ask. He moved towards the door, and Hogan followed.

"Mostly bruising, some of it pretty deep," Wilson murmured. "He won't be able to move tomorrow. I stitched up the cut on his forehead before he came to, but I'll have to change the dressing twice a day, and there's a risk of infection. You might want to see if you can get hold of some penicillin, just in case. Apart from that, just try to keep him quiet and let him get as much sleep as he can, till the shock wears off. I got some painkillers into him, that should help, and I've left some more with LeBeau. Oh, and I had a quick look at your other two guys, they should be okay."

"Other two...?" For a moment Hogan had no idea what the medic was talking about. "Oh, right. Mills and Kellet."

Wilson grimaced. "Kellet's complaining a lot, thinks his leg's broken. It isn't. He's got some scrapes and bruises, he'll be fine in a few days. Mills may have torn a ligament in his shoulder, he'll be out of action for some time. But they both came out of it better than they should."

Hogan nodded. "Thanks, Wilson. You better get back to your own barracks."

"Yes, sir. Uh...keep an eye on him, okay? He's pretty shook up, never seen him so edgy."

"I'll do that," replied Hogan.

As he opened the door to the main barracks, Newkirk, still in his civilian clothes, started forward. "Colonel - "

"Easy, Newkirk. He's okay." Hogan went to the outer door, and opened it slightly. "All clear, Wilson."

The medic slipped out, and crept away to his own hut.

"LeBeau, go sit with Carter for a while. Okay, Newkirk, you can go too, once you're in your own clothes. Kinch, how secure is the tunnel now?"

"We did some work down there, propping it up," replied Kinch. "Can't do much more till the air clears. But it's safe for now."

"Good. In that case, everyone get some sleep. We're gonna have a lot of work to do tomorrow." Hogan looked around to make sure everyone understood. It was too dark to read anyone's face, but the body language was clear enough.

Kinch, having directed Staller to his bunk, returned to the tunnel. Even with things the way they were, the radio still had to be manned. Hogan waited till the men were settled before he followed his radio man.

"Okay, Kinch, what happened?" he demanded.

"Honestly, Colonel, I'm not sure," said Kinch after a pause. "Carter was working down there. I went and checked on him, everything was fine. I sent Mills down about half an hour later. Next thing I knew, the whole lab went up. And believe me, Colonel, it was a big one."

"Any idea what caused it?"

"I asked Mills, he said he didn't know. But he was the last one in there, apart from Carter." Kinch hesitated again, then went on diffidently. "There was something I should have told you last night, but with everything that happened, I clean forgot. Staller was poking round the tunnels yesterday, he admitted he'd been in the lab. I'm not saying he had anything to do with last night's explosion..."

"...but you think he did," Hogan finished the sentence.

Kinch sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "No. Carter was pretty damn certain it was his own fault, when I asked him about it, and he ought to know. But it just seems like a big coincidence that it should happen again within twenty-four hours. And Staller's had it in for Carter since he got here. Colonel, something about this whole business stinks."

Hogan didn't answer at once. He leaned on the desk, his brow wrinkled and his lips pressed together, as he fitted Kinch's conjectures into the pattern he was already constructing.

"Okay," he said at last. "Let's assume you're on to something. But Staller would have to have a reason. I can't see him going to that length, risking his own safety and Weber's, and jeopardizing our operation, just out of pure malice. So why would he want Carter out of the way?"

He pinched his bottom lip, his frown deepening. Kinch didn't say a word.

Finally Hogan spoke again. "Staller never found the mole at 182 Squadron. What if he wasn't trying?"

"What do you mean, Colonel?" asked Kinch, after a moment.

"I mean, supposing the Krauts' inside man at the 182nd was actually the guy who was supposed to be tracking him down?" murmured Hogan. "What if the reason Staller never got anywhere with that inquiry was because he was the mole himself? And what if he thinks Carter knows something that could tip us off?"

It took even longer for Kinch to answer this time. "But Colonel - that would mean..."

"Yep." Hogan straightened up. "If I'm right, Düsseldorf isn't the only place where there's a problem. We may have a Nazi agent in the barracks, and he already knows enough to get us into a whole mess of trouble."


	18. Chapter 18

"So what do we do now?" asked Kinch. "If you're right, then we gotta put this guy on ice."

Hogan folded his arms. "Yeah. It's still a big _if_. So far all we've got to go on is a pretty big coincidence, and your gut instinct. And mine," he added. "I'm getting all kinds of bad feelings about him, too. I'm not sure that's enough, not without more information."

"But we can't just let him get away with it," Kinch protested.

"We're not going to." Hogan spoke softly, his expression grim. "Okay, maybe the explosion tonight was an accident, but I'm not willing to risk it. From now on, someone's watching Staller every minute, till we get this resolved. And Carter, as well."

"That's not going to be so easy, with roll-call twice a day."

"Easy enough. Carter's not going to make it to assembly for the next few days. We tell Staller that the goons are likely to search the barracks if there's a man missing, and that he'll have to line up in Carter's place. It won't be that hard, how many times have we slipped a ringer in on Schultz?" Hogan frowned slightly. "But that only takes care of roll-call. We need him covered twenty-four hours a day, and it's going to take more than just you, me and Mills to work it. I'm going to have to take Newkirk and LeBeau into confidence."

"Colonel - "

"Just about Staller, and the information leak at the 182nd." Hogan overrode the protest. "They don't need to know anything else. We can't afford to risk letting our guard down, they have to know that much. It's not just Carter's safety that's at risk, it could be our whole operation."

"There's something I don't get, Colonel," said Kinch after a minute or so. "That was one hell of a blast. It could have brought the whole tunnel down. If Staller really was responsible, why would he take such a risk? What's Carter got on him that's so damning, he'd be prepared to go that far?"

"That's something only Carter can tell us, assuming he even knows himself," murmured Hogan. He started pacing, lost in thought. Finally he stopped, and tipped his cap back on his head. "I screwed this one up, Kinch."

"How d'you mean, Colonel? You couldn't have known..."

"Carter should never have been working in the lab tonight," Hogan interrupted. "I should have stood him down after the first accident. Maybe earlier." He paused, and rubbed one hand across his forehead. "The thing is, I didn't want to. Staller was right, in a way. Right now, Carter's not fit for duty. He needed more time, before I put him back to work. I just didn't want to see it." He took another turn. "I let Staller get to me," he went on. "The more he tried to make Carter look bad, the more I wanted to show him how wrong he was. He's a clever bastard, Kinch. He overdid it, but I still fell for it."

"I think we both did, Colonel," murmured Kinch.

"Well, it's not happening again." Hogan straightened up. "Kinch, see who you can contact in Düsseldorf. Tell 'em to keep an eye on a guy called Pitz - Josef Pitz. Weber spotted him in Hammelburg tonight, or so he claimed. They can take a close look at Weber while they're at it."

"Why Weber?"

"Because it occurs to me that if he'd come back here with us tonight, Carter would have seen him. And Carter knew Staller's offsider at the 182nd."

"You meant Lieutenant Mason?" Kinch stared at him. "Colonel, we already confirmed Mason's dead."

"Yeah. So we did." Hogan met his right-hand man's gaze impassively. "Tell 'em anyway."

He headed for the ladder up to the barracks, but stopped at the first rung. "By the way, Kinch," he said over his shoulder, "what was Kellet doing down here, anyway?"

Kinch uttered a short, contemptuous laugh. "Kellet has been paying a few unauthorized after-hours visits to a couple of pals in Barracks 5. It was raining tonight, he didn't want to get his feet wet, so he thought he'd take the subway."

Hogan cast up his eyes. "At least that's one problem I know how to deal with. Okay, Kinch. Don't stay down here too long - there's still a lot of dust in the air, I don't want you getting too much of it in your lungs."

He went on up to the barracks, where the occupants had settled into silence, though he could tell most of them were still awake. So much the better, it would mean Staller couldn't move from his bunk without being noticed.

The only sound came from Hogan's quarters.

"...tell you what, Andrew. Wait a few days till you're up and about again, and then I'll give you a right telling off, if it'll make you feel better. But for now, let's not make your head ache any more than it does, all right?" Newkirk broke off, as Hogan came in.

"How's he doing?" he asked, in a low voice.

By the very inadequate illumination of the flashlight LeBeau was holding, its beam directed to the floor, he could see that Carter was still awake, although obviously having difficulty keeping his eyes open. He blinked, and turned a dull, weary gaze on the colonel.

"Beating himself up a bit, Colonel," murmured Newkirk, who had posted himself at the head of the bunk, occupying the only chair, while LeBeau was leaning on the post at the other end.

"Okay. Carter, if you're ready, we need to talk," said Hogan.

"What's there to talk about?" Carter's voice was low and almost without expression.

Hogan glanced at Newkirk, who took the hint, vacated the chair and went to lean against the desk, while Hogan took his place.

"Let's start with the basics," he replied. "What happened tonight?"

"You know what happened," said Carter, after a long pause.

"All right. Let's put it another way. How did it happen?"

Carter shifted uneasily, with a sharp intake of breath as his battered body protested. The silence was even longer this time, before he finally answered. "I fouled up."

LeBeau started to speak, but at a look from Hogan bit the words back.

"Tell me how, Carter. It's important, I need to know."

Carter sighed, blinked slowly, then sighed again. "Mills knows."

"Not according to Kinch, he doesn't." Hogan waited again, while Newkirk fidgeted and LeBeau's eyes wandered around the room, focusing anywhere except on Carter.

"I got the mixture wrong again," said Carter at last. "There's some stuff down there, we swiped it from that experimental explosives lab we blew up a couple of months back. Kind of ammonium chlorate mix, but they added something to stabilize it. It's still pretty volatile, so I keep it out of the way." He paused again, biting his lower lip.

After a further silence, Hogan turned to Newkirk. "Get Mills in here."

Newkirk slipped out, and returned a minute later with an apprehensive Mills. Hogan wasted no time. "Mills, Carter seems to think you can clear up what happened in the lab this evening."

Mills glanced at Carter. "Sorry, Colonel. I'm not real sure."

"Well, what can you tell me?" asked Hogan, while Carter gave a soft, impatient mutter. "What's the story with this ammonium...?" He broke off, unsure of what Carter had called the stuff.

"Chlorate." Mills and Carter spoke together. Both stopped, staring at each other, then Mills went on. "It's just some stuff Carter keeps at the back of the lab, with the other volatile chemicals."

"What's it got to do with the explosion?" demanded Newkirk.

Mills sent a quick, pleading look at Carter. "Like I said, I don't really know..."

"Mills, just say it," Carter broke out. "I got the wrong stuff off the shelf. I used that compound instead of potassium nitrate, and it blew up."

"Is that true, Mills?" asked Hogan.

Mills was still looking at Carter. After a moment, he said quietly. "He did have the chlorate on the workbench when I went in there. But I was out of the lab before the explosion, so I can't say for sure whether he went ahead with it."

"Okay. So what do you think happened, based on what you saw?"

"I'm not an expert, Colonel." Mills turned a serious, troubled gaze towards Hogan. "I'd only be guessing, and I don't know enough about either chemistry or explosives to be certain."

"I understand that," said Hogan. "But it's obvious you have an opinion on it. And I want to know what it is. It's an order, Mills. Do you think that's what caused the explosion?"

Mills took a deep breath, and met Carter's eyes again.

"No, Colonel," he said resolutely. "I'm not sure why, but something about it doesn't fit. I can't give you a reason, but I'm absolutely sure, whatever blew up in the lab, it wasn't anything Carter was doing."


	19. Chapter 19

"No. That can't be right." Carter propped himself up on his elbow, staring at Mills as if he were speaking in a foreign language. "I blew up the lab. I had the stuff right there.." He trailed off in a confused murmur.

Hogan waited, silencing Newkirk's visible impatience with a glance. LeBeau's eyes moved from Carter to Mills, and back again, his expression darkening as he started to reconsider the lab explosion from a new perspective.

After half a minute of silence, Hogan leaned forward. "Carter, try and think for a minute. What do you remember?"

Carter didn't answer at once. "I...uh, I had the stuff on the bench..." Once again he broke off, the crease deepening between his eyes. "It must have blown up when I added the other mixture," he said at last.

"Mills?" asked Hogan.

Mills bit his bottom lip as he thought it through, then slowly shook his head. "Wouldn't it have gone off pretty well instantly? Carter, you weren't even in the lab when it exploded. You came out to talk to me."

Carter's forehead puckered. "I don't remember that," he mumbled after a few seconds.

"Well, you did. So it doesn't make any sense. How could you blow up the lab if you weren't even there?"

"I...well, maybe I..." Carter stammered into silence again, completely bewildered.

"Okay, so let's assume Mills is right," said Hogan. "And if he is, then we can start looking for some other cause."

"_Mon colonel_, what are you trying to say?" asked LeBeau.

"The lab didn't blow up all by itself," added Newkirk. "You saying there's something dodgy going on?"

"It's starting to look like it," replied Hogan. "What's the most likely scenario, Mills?"

"Some kind of delayed action set-up," said Mills, after consideration.

"So it didn't happen by accident. Someone else had to be involved."

Carter's eyes went from Hogan to Mills, and back again. "Wait a minute. You're saying there was a bomb in the lab? But...but who'd do something like that? For crying out loud, they could have brought the whole tunnel down. Someone could have gotten hurt."

"Someone did get hurt, Carter. As for who's responsible, that's what we've got to work out," said Hogan.

LeBeau's lips tightened. "Kellet was in the tunnel when he shouldn't have been. Did he do something?"

"I don't think Kellet's our man," said Hogan quietly. "Sure, he's a nasty little son of a bitch, and I wouldn't put much past him. But unless there's something going on we don't know about, he's got no motive. He hasn't got anything against Carter. In any case, he'd hardly be dumb enough to set up an explosion, then hang around to get caught in it. I think he bears watching, I'm not prepared to take any chances on my being wrong about this. But my money's on someone else."

He glanced at Mills, then at Carter. "It looks like we're gonna have to let these two in on some of what went on at 182 Squadron," he added.

There was the slightest of movements, as every muscle in Carter's body tensed. He didn't take his eyes from Hogan's face, but he drew back almost imperceptibly.

_Just trust me, Carter_, was the message in Hogan's eyes.

"Colonel..." murmured Mills.

Hogan held up his hand to silence him. "I know. Some of it's still confidential. But if I'm right, someone tried to kill Carter tonight. And I don't think it was any of our guys."

"You think it was Staller."

"It's possible," replied Hogan grimly. "He was at the 182nd - he had a counterintelligence operation going there, trying to locate a Nazi infiltrator. Now he's handling the Düsseldorf network, and surprise, they've been infiltrated as well. Anyone see a pattern starting to develop here?"

There was a long silence, then Newkirk straightened abruptly, and made for the door.

"Hold it." Hogan didn't need to raise his voice. "Let's not lose our heads. If Staller is a double agent - and that's not certain yet - we have to handle this right, because he won't be working alone. The mole in Düsseldorf's been operating for some time, and Staller's been in Germany for less than a week."

Newkirk had stopped, his hand already on the door. He turned back, slowly, and without a word went back to the desk

LeBeau uttered a savage, low-voiced curse. "To think I have allowed that _salopard_ to eat our food, and live in our tunnel, and never once suspected...Did you know, _mon Colonel_?"

"I've had doubts about him," admitted Hogan.

"But why? How?"

"That's the part I can't tell you." Hogan met his eyes fair and square. "His operation at the 182nd is still classified - I don't even know the whole story myself." He turned to Carter, who had dropped back onto the mattress. "But what I do know is that he had one of his own men attached to one of the air crews - a Lieutenant Mason. Carter, you knew Mason when you were there, right? Would you recognize him, if you saw him again?"

"Mason's dead, Colonel," replied Carter wearily. "He got shot down, remember?"

"I know. Just humor me a little here. Would you know him?"

"Well, sure I would. He wasn't the kind you'd forget. They called him Big Red."

"Ginger?"

"Yeah, real ginger, and real big, six foot four." Carter blinked, and shook his head to clear it. The painkillers were starting to work.

Hogan sighed. "Well, that eliminates Karl Weber, anyway."

"Weber? The little chap we met in Hammelburg tonight?" asked Newkirk. "You think he might be the rotten apple in Düsseldorf?"

"Just checking. If he'd come back to camp with us tonight, Carter might have seen him. The last thing Staller would want is for a supposedly dead agent to meet someone who could identify him, so there's a motive right away. But Weber doesn't fit the description, and in any case he was operating as an agent in Germany while Mason was still at the 182nd."

"And you think this Mason's still alive?"

"It seems unlikely," admitted Hogan. "We made enquiries with London. But if he was, Staller would be likely to use him again when he took over Düsseldorf. Intelligence men like working with the same people from one operation to the next, that way they don't have to keep checking up on new ones."

He paused, thinking. "Weber mentioned seeing one of their operatives in Hammelburg tonight - a guy called Josef Pitz. I'd be interested in knowing what he looks like."

Newkirk, still too angry to keep still, took a couple of steps towards the window. "Well, what's the plan, Colonel?" he asked. "How are we getting rid of the bastard?"

"We're not," replied Hogan, pushing his chair back slightly. "Okay, keep it down," he added, as both Newkirk and LeBeau protested. "I know what you're thinking. But I want him where we can keep a twenty-four hour watch on him. If we play it right, we might just be able to get him to lead us to the Düsseldorf mole."

"What, you mean we go on as if..."

"As if we don't suspect a thing. Until we clear this up, we don't change our behavior in any way as far as Staller's concerned. We act as if we think the blast was Carter's doing." Hogan glanced at Carter, noting the fluttering of his eyelids, as he tried to stay conscious, had ceased. "As far as Staller knows, he got away with it this time. And we make sure he doesn't get a second chance. From now on, we watch every move he makes."

He stood up, and went to lean over the bunk, his eyes on Carter's face. "He's out," he murmured. "Okay, let's leave it at that for now. Newkirk, LeBeau, from tomorrow you take it in turns to watch Staller. Mills, as soon as it's safe, if you're up to it, get down to the lab and have a look round, see if you can figure out what happened."

"It's a hell of a mess down there, Colonel," said Mills hesitantly. "Whatever caused it, I doubt there's anything left of it."

"Try anyway." Hogan was still bending over Carter. "I want to know exactly how it went down. Because if Staller did plant something down there, there's no way I'm letting Carter take the blame."

He didn't say any more, but Mills, at least, knew what he was thinking. _Not this time, Staller. You got to him once. You're not doing it again._


	20. Chapter 20

It was not often that the inmates of Barracks 2 lined up for roll call in such a sullen mood. Schultz, making his way along the double row for the head count, met one surly face after another, and was completely demoralized by the time he reached the end.

"Colonel Hogan, what is the matter with them?" he asked.

Hogan sent a look along the line. "Nothing that I can see, Schultz," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Everyone seems so grouchy. Was it something I said?"

"Well, you were a little offhand when you called us out for assembly," said Hogan, after a moment's meditation. "You know, Schultz, they may not look it, but some of them are a bit sensitive. It doesn't hurt to be pleasant, you know, even first thing in the morning."

Schultz gave him a skeptical look. "Perhaps they would like me to bring them a cup of tea and the morning paper?"

"If it's not too much trouble. And maybe some crumpets."

With a dismissive grunt, Schultz turned away. Then he turned back, and leaned sideways to peer between Hogan and Newkirk. "Who is that?" he asked, suddenly uneasy.

"Who's who, Schultz?" asked Newkirk.

"That man there, standing next to Kinchloe."

Newkirk turned his head, his eyes narrowing as they fell on Staller. "Well, that depends. Who do you want him to be?"

"He's standing in Carter's place, but he is definitely not Carter." Schultz's voice began to ascend to an anxious whine as he gazed at the interloper.

"You know something, Schultz? I do believe you might be right," murmured Newkirk, after a few moments of careful scrutiny. "I wonder how that happened?"

"Never mind how it happened," said Hogan. "What's Klink going to say about it? That's the big question."

"You know, Schultz, you really should be more careful who you let in and out of the place," concluded Newkirk. "This isn't a hotel."

"_Donnerwetter_," muttered Schultz, closing his eyes.

"Don't look so worried, Schultzie," said LeBeau. "What's the worst that can happen?"

Hogan turned his attention to the steps of the Kommandantur. "I guess we'll find that out in about thirty seconds," he replied, watching Klink totter down the steps.

Schultz made a low whimpering sound. "Colonel Hogan, what shall I do?"

"Why ask me, Schultz? You're the one who can't keep track of who's supposed to be here."

"Please, Colonel Hogan!"

Klink had made it to the ground, and was already crossing the compound. But he wasn't moving very fast, and his bent posture and shuffling steps indicated a certain degree of discomfort.

Hogan turned his attention back to Schultz. "Okay, look at this way. How many men are supposed to be in this barracks?"

"Fourteen."

"And how many men are here?"

Schultz glanced along the double row again. "Er...fourteen."

"And that's all Klink needs to know, right?"

"Well..." Schultz began doubtfully.

"Repooooort!"

Schultz spun around, saluted sharply and responded. "_Herr Kommandant_, beg to report, all present and accounted for."

Klink returned the salute, very slowly and with a pained grimace. "Dismissed," he muttered, before shuffling round to begin the return journey across the compound.

"Poor Klink doesn't look very well, does he?" observed Hogan, watching the Kommandant's stoop-backed progress.

"He put his back out, driving to Hammelburg yesterday," replied Schultz, lowering his voice. "And such a terrible temper he is in...!"

A muffled sniggering came from those of the men who had not already headed back towards the barracks. Most of them, however, had already moved off. Kellet, in spite of his heavily exaggerated limp, was the first one back to the barracks. He stopped short, just inside the door. "Well, look who's awake," he remarked derisively.

Carter, in defiance of orders to stay in bed, had made it as far as the door of Hogan's office. He flushed at the scorn in Kellet's voice, but held his ground, although that might have been because he didn't dare let go of the door frame in case he fell over.

"You're blocking the door, Kellet," muttered the man behind him. Kellet gave a snort, and hobbled out of the way.

"So what's on your schedule today, Carter? he asked. "Gonna blow up the whole barracks?"

"Leave him alone," said one of the others. "It was an accident, right?"

Kellet shrugged that off. "Oh, Carter's real good at accidents," he growled. "Not much use for anything else. I'm starting to think I'd be safer in combat, instead of stuck here having to worry about Carter's accidents. Not to mention young Dorothy over there." He shot a contemptuous glance at Mills, who had edged past and gone to his own bunk.

Mills met the look squarely. "Already told you, pal. You're not my type."

"You know something, Kellet?" added Kinch. "Sometimes I can't imagine what it's like, having to live inside your head. Mills saved your life last night. How about a bit of gratitude? Or at least, give us all a break, and shut up for a day or so."

"Make that an order."

Kellet turned around. Hogan was in the doorway, leaning nonchalantly against the frame, arms folded, head slightly tilted, as if he were examining some unfamiliar species, and didn't much care for it. Kellet went darkly red, but didn't reply.

Hogan gave him ten seconds, then looked past him. "Carter, you're not supposed to be up."

"I know, Colonel," mumbled Carter. "I just thought...well, the lab's in a mess, I thought...Yes, sir, back to bed. I know."

"LeBeau," said Hogan, with a jerk of the head, and LeBeau hurried to Carter's assistance.

"Colonel Hogan." The interruption came from Schultz, who had come traipsing back from Klink's office. Hogan straightened and turned around, putting his hand on the door frame to block the entry, while LeBeau hustled Carter out of sight.

"What's up, Schultz?" asked Hogan.

"The Kommandant wants to see you in his office right away," replied Schultz.

"Okay, tell him I'll be over later."

Schultz was not to be so easily fobbed off. "No, please, Colonel Hogan, don't make him angrier than he already is. He does not want to be kept waiting."

"Well, I'm sorry, Schultz," replied Hogan, "but we've got a lot of cleaning up to do in here today, and I wanted to make an early start. What's Klink want to see me about, anyway?"

"He didn't tell me. And I thought it better not to ask."

Hogan considered the request again. It was unlikely Klink had noticed Staller's presence, but not impossible. Therefore it might be better to head off any problems before they started. "Okay, Schultz," he sighed. "But it better be important. Kinch, get going. Let's make this the cleanest hovel in the whole of Germany."

"We'll see to it, Colonel," replied Kinch. He closed the door behind Hogan, and turned. "Okay, this is a big job, so we need every able man. That includes you, Kellet," he added, with a sideways glance as Kellet began a protest. "At this stage we're not going to clear the tunnel. We're just doing whatever reinforcing is needed to prevent any further collapse. Nobody is to go into the lab, that's out of bounds until either Carter or Mills has inspected the damage. Adams, you get over to Barracks 5, tell them to do the same from their end. Clear? Right, get moving. Not you, Mills. You better sit this one out. Keep an eye on Carter."

He turned a speculative eye on Staller. It would have given him no end of satisfaction to set the major to digging, but he knew he didn't have the authority to go that far, and Staller didn't offer.

Kellet continued to grumble under his breath as he took off his jacket and tossed it onto his bunk.

"You know what they say about guys who talk to themselves, Kellet," remarked Newkirk, regarding him with a faint smile.

"Round here it's the only way to get an intelligent conversation," Kellet snapped back.

"My, we are touchy." Newkirk put his hands in his pockets, and the smile broadened. He turned to Mills. "What d'you reckon has got up his nose the most - nearly getting buried, or you being the one to rescue him?"

"If it makes him feel better, I'm no happier about it than he is," replied Mills.

"Well, next time, Mills, do us all a favor," said Newkirk. "Leave the bugger down there."


	21. Chapter 21

"Come in."

The Kommandant's response to the knock at the door of his office came in feeble, aged accents, faint enough for Hogan to decide to ignore it, and knock again. Only after the third attempt did he finally open the door and peek inside.

"Sorry, Kommandant," he said. "I knocked three times and you didn't answer."

"I answered, Hogan," replied Klink. "You just didn't hear me."

Hogan edged into the office, regarding Klink with an expression of concern. "Are you all right, sir? You look - well - not so good, frankly."

"I'm fine," Klink snapped back. "Just a little lower back pain, nothing to worry about." He attempted to lean back in his seat, stalled halfway, then slowly moved forward again, his face contracting in spite of his attempts at nonchalance. "The drive to Hammelburg yesterday was a little rough."

"Really?" remarked Hogan. "Gee, I thought you Germans always kept your roads in tip-top condition."

"We do - until your planes bomb them," growled Klink. "Hogan, that road was supposed to have been repaired a month ago by a work party of your men, in return for extra rations."

"Oh, that's right, I remember." Hogan folded his arms. "Rations which we never got."

"Hogan, don't try me too far. Last night I experienced the repair job your delinquents did on the road, and I'm considering halving the rations they're receiving now, just to teach them a lesson."

"It's not their fault, Kommandant," said Hogan petulantly. "It was Schultz. He wouldn't let them sing. He got quite mean about it, he stamped his feet and everything. It really discouraged them. After all, when you're working hard, in the heat of the afternoon sun, a little singing helps you to put your heart into it. But that's Schultz for you. Just not a music lover."

"I heard about that, Hogan," replied Klink, through gritted teeth. "General Burkhalter was fortunate enough to catch the performance on his way here. He told me very frankly that he didn't appreciate hearing that being sung in the heart of Germany."

Hogan shrugged. "What's wrong with _Der Fuehrer's Face_? It's a great song. Real catchy. It's even got sound effects."

Klink slammed the desk with the palm of his hand, but the accompanying cry of "Insolence!" did not get past the first syllable. After a few tense seconds, during which his face folded so tightly with pain that his monocle seemed in danger of snapping in half, he took a cautious inward breath. "Hogan," he muttered, "your men will resurface that road, and then resurface it again, until it is as level and smooth as the runway at a Luftwaffe air base."

"Well, that shouldn't take long," said Hogan, with a smug grin. "Have you seen what our bombers have done to those lately?"

The Kommandant glowered, but didn't take the bait. "There's another thing, Hogan. My staff car."

"Which one, Colonel?"

"The good one," Klink's voice grated. "The one that doesn't run like it's on square wheels. The one you and your men were supposed to have repaired for me last week."

"Oh, that one." Hogan shrugged. "Yeah, that's been a bit of a problem, sir. It's getting the parts, you know. Newkirk was going to run into town for them, but the guards wouldn't let him."

"More insolence. That car is to be repaired today, Hogan. And your men will start on the road repairs tomorrow. And when I say 'your men', Hogan, I mean it," Klink added, scowling. "The entire complement of Barracks 2 will turn out for the work party."

"Kommandant, you're being unreasonable," said Hogan coolly. " Prisoners of war aren't required to do that kind of work, you know. We repaired the road once, and you went back on your side of the deal. You're gonna have to deliver on that promise before I even consider asking them to redo the work. And you can't have all of Barracks 2, anyway. A couple of the men are sick."

That was a calculated risk. The chances of the work detail going ahead were pretty small, but if it did, it was better to have an excuse already in place for Carter and Mills not turning out. As Hogan expected, the mere suggestion of disease in the camp was enough to distract Klink's attention.

"What do you mean?" he gabbled. "Which men? Is it contagious?"

"Just something that's going round, sir. The camp medic's seen them, he's satisfied it's nothing serious, but we don't want it to get that way. And the last thing you want is to attract attention from the protecting power or the Red Cross. Not so soon after...well, you know, Colonel."

Klink did know. It was not so long since one of the prisoners had been killed, shot while trying to escape.* Vast quantities of paperwork continued to circulate in relation to the matter, and Klink was in no mind to risk another such incident. He shrank slightly, drawing his head down between his shoulders. "Of course not," he muttered. "Very well, if the medic confirms your statement, those men will be excused. Nevertheless, Hogan..."

"No, I'm sorry, Kommandant, but it's not negotiable." Hogan tilted his chair. "We'll fix the car, as a gesture of good faith. But the roadworks - well, like I said, make good on the last agreement, then we'll talk."

For a few seconds, he thought Klink might explode, but he was disappointed. The Kommandant glared at him, braced his hands on the desktop, straightened his spine, and caved. "I'll look into it. But the car is to be done today. Dismissed."

It wasn't an ideal compromise, but nor would it be a very demanding task. The car was running perfectly well anyway. "We'll get right on it, sir," said Hogan, and took his leave.

In the barracks, all was quiet. Staller was lying on the bunk which had been allocated to him, smoking. He looked bored, and he turned a sharp gaze on Hogan as he entered, then went back to studying the underside of the bunk above.

Apart from Mills, only LeBeau had remained above ground, to keep the major under observation and to watch for any approaching guards. He moved back from the door, opening it enough to let Hogan in, then resumed his surveillance.

"How's Carter doing?" asked Hogan in a soft undertone.

"He's sleeping again, _mon colonel_. He seems a little better - not so confused, anyway," replied LeBeau. "Do you want to see him?"

Hogan shook his head. "Better not disturb him. He needs his sleep right now. I'll check up on him later."

He headed down the ladder into the tunnel. Reaching the radio room, he stood still for a moment, listening to the subdued noise of men working to reinforce the unsafe part of the tunnel. Kinch, having set them to work, had returned to the radio.

"Still nothing from Düsseldorf, Colonel," he said. "But they may be missing our broadcasts. I can't keep sending all the time, in case the Krauts pick up the signal."

"Keep trying," replied Hogan. "But time it randomly, and keep the transmissions short. How's it going down there?"

"Slow." Kinch took off the headset, and put it on the desk. "We can't rush it, in case we set off another cave-in."

"Can you spare a couple of guys to go and look at Klink's car? He wants it fixed today, if we oblige then maybe he'll forget about the road repairs he wants done."

"Yeah, I think we can manage," said Kinch. "You know, we may be better off closing that passage down. It's going to take weeks to clear it, and it's not like we need to get to Barracks 5 that often. I'm not even sure whether it's worth trying to save the lab."

"I want the lab saved," said Hogan. "Or at least secured, till we get a chance to look around."

Kinch shrugged. "Well, I guess we can..." He broke off, as the radio came to life. "That's the emergency frequency," he muttered, reaching for the headset.

Hogan waited, watching in keen anxiety as Kinch took the message, his pencil flying across the paper. The night before - God, how much had happened since then! - Hogan had told Karl Weber to send at that frequency, if he needed help. Nobody else would be using it.

The transmission ended, and Kinch handed the paper to the colonel. "I guess I don't need to keep trying to reach anyone in Düsseldorf," he remarked grimly.

"Yeah." Hogan read it through. "Anyone who hasn't gone into hiding has probably been picked up. Damn it, Kinch. We could lose some good people." After a few seconds he added, "Or we could end up in the cells right next to them."

"Weber's waiting for a reply, Colonel," murmured Kinch. "He probably can't stay on the radio for more than a couple of minutes."

"Okay," said Hogan. "Tell him to be on the Hammelburg Road, near the Flensheim turn-off, at eleven hundred hours tomorrow. Newkirk will meet him there, and bring him back. Once we get him to camp, we'll be able to get more information."

"How's that going to work, Colonel?" Kinch paused with his hand on the Morse sender. "Sending Newkirk out through the emergency tunnel in daylight is just asking for trouble."

"We won't have to. Klink's going to send us out in a truck to pick him up."

"You're kidding."

"Afraid not, Kinch," said Hogan, with a rueful grin. "Get back to Weber, and give him those instructions. Then go and tell the men not to wear themselves out down in the tunnel. Tomorrow, we're going out to repair the Hammelburg Road. I just have to come up with a plausible reason to give in to Klink on the job. I already told him no way."

He turned away, towards the tunnel where the men were working, but stopped as Kinch spoke again. "Question, Colonel. Karl Weber - you sure we trust him?"

"At the moment, Kinch, I don't trust anyone but my own team," replied Hogan in a soft, even tone. "But we still bring Weber back here. Because if he's on the level, then his life is in danger."

"And if he isn't?" asked Kinch.

He already had an idea what the answer would be, and Hogan didn't hesitate in giving it.

"If he isn't, then it's even more important to get him here," he said. There was icy resolve in his tone. "This has gone on long enough. The sooner he's out of circulation, the better."

* * *

* _A Dark Night, Long Ago_


	22. Chapter 22

"When can I start work on fixing up the lab, Colonel?"

Hogan put aside the soup bowl. It was half an hour till lights out, and he'd just managed, by sheer force of will, to get Carter to take his first meal since the explosion the night before. It was little enough, just some of LeBeau's vegetable soup. Still, Hogan was pleased to notice a bit more color in the patient's face.

"Not yet," he said. "In the first place, you can hardly stand up, so you won't be doing anything."

"But, Colonel..."

"That's an order, Carter." Hogan cut the protest short. "You're just going to have to let the rest of us handle it. And before we even think about it, there's a lot of other work has to be done down there first. Once the tunnel's been made safe, and we've had a good look round, then we can make a start. And it could be a couple of days. We're on work detail tomorrow, repairing the Hammelburg Road."

Carter's brow wrinkled with anxiety. "Well, okay. But gee, Colonel, road maintenance is hard work. Do I have to...?

"No, Carter, you're excused." Hogan sighed unconsciously. He was trying to be patient, but sometimes Carter seemed almost wilfully obtuse. "Wilson's told Klink you're sick - pink-eye or something like that, enough to get you out of the work detail, but not serious enough for Klink to start panicking and bring in a doctor. Mills has it as well, so he'll be on hand in case Staller gets any ideas."

"Well, can't I go down and at least have a look?" Carter's fingers closed nervously, twisting the edge of the blanket. "Maybe there's some stuff can be salvaged. I could start..."

"Carter, what part of the word 'no' don't you understand?" interrupted Hogan. "Your job at the moment is to get well. That means you take it easy, until Wilson gives you the okay. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," muttered Carter, after a few seconds.

"Good. Now lie down, and get some sleep." Hogan went out into the main barracks, turning out the light.

Carter lay still. The throbbing pain from the cut on his forehead was such a constant presence, he hardly noticed it any more, but his other injuries made themselves felt if he moved carelessly. He had to allow the colonel was right, he wasn't in any condition to go messing about in the wreckage of the lab. But he had to do it, as soon as possible.

Hogan had made a pretty good case, the night before, for someone else - Staller, or maybe Kellet - having been responsible for what had happened. But Carter's own memory of the incident was incomplete, it ended abruptly just after he'd told Mills...well, never mind that, he didn't want to think about that.

Maybe Hogan was right, and Staller had fixed up some kind of delayed action charge. But the big jar of ammonium chlorate had been sitting right there on the workbench. The first blast going off might have triggered a second explosion, a much bigger one. And that would have been Carter's fault. The complete demolition of the lab, the cave-in, his own injuries as well as those to Mills and Kellet, all of that would be down to him.

Hogan had ordered him to take things easy. But until he'd been down to the lab, and seen for himself just how culpable he was, Carter knew he wasn't going to be able to rest.

Half after seven in the morning, straight after roll call, found the work party ready to set off for the stretch of road which had done so much damage to the Kommandant's spine. Of the inmates of Barracks 2, only Carter and Mills had been excused. But Kellet managed to fade from sight as soon as assembly was dismissed.

"Typical. The only thing he's better at than mouthing off is skiving off," remarked Newkirk. "You want me to go and chase him out, Colonel?"

"Too late," said LeBeau, jerking his head towards the truck already approaching from the motor pool.

"Better leave it," added Hogan. "We don't want the Krauts getting curious."

"Maybe if one of us stayed behind as well..." Kinch began.

Hogan considered, his eyes on the guards. "No. One man down, we might get away with, but not two. Schultz is already on edge over Staller taking Carter's place at roll call. We don't want him to go looking for absentees. Mills, you get back to the barracks, and don't let Staller out of your sight. Carter's still sleeping, he'll be safe enough as long as you're in the barracks."

"Yes, sir," murmured Mills.

He moved off quickly. Staller had already headed indoors, and even though he'd have to be crazy to risk another attempt on Carter, nobody was prepared to give him any opportunity.

"You know what I think, Colonel?" began Newkirk, but before he could complete the thought Schultz came bustling over.

"Everybody into the truck," he ordered. "No talking, and no monkey business."

"Why so grouchy, Schultz?" asked Hogan, regarding him with a lazy smile. "Get up on the wrong side of the war this morning?"

Schultz scowled at him. "Colonel Hogan," he began, then paused, glancing around to see where the other guards were. He lowered his voice before continuing. "Carter was not at roll call again this morning. Please, Colonel Hogan, you have to tell me where he is."

"Why should I, Schultz?" The smile remained on Hogan's face, but there was a shrewd look in his eye. "After all, if one of us knows, isn't that enough?"

"No," said Schultz brusquely. Then after a few seconds, he added, "Maybe."

A few more seconds passed, before he continued, "All right. But at least tell me who was that man answering for him at roll call."

"You sure you want to know?" The smile faded, but the calculating gleam remained. "Really, Schultz?"

Schultz sighed. "Get into the truck," he grumbled. "I see nothing, I hear nothing, I know..." The rest of the sentence faded into inaudibility as he lumbered away towards the cabin.

From inside the barracks, Mills watched the truck roll out through the main gate. He glanced briefly at Staller, who was sitting on the bench beside the table, leaning on his elbows. Staller didn't look up, in fact he hardly seemed to notice he wasn't alone. Mills regarded him in silence for some time, but the man's face was giving nothing away.

The truck was now out of sight. Mills closed the shutters, and went to the door of Hogan's office. Carter was keeping very quiet in there, too quiet. And as Mills opened the door and looked inside, he realized why.

_Oh, crap!_ he thought.

Carter wasn't in there. He must have sneaked out while the rest of the men were out on assembly, and Mills had a pretty good idea where he would be.

He had two choices. He could leave Carter, who could barely move without pain, to pick over the wrecked lab on his own, or he could leave Staller, still under suspicion, alone in the barracks to get up to God only knew what kind of mischief.

So, not a choice, really. Staller, left to himself, could potentially endanger the whole operation. Carter was only one man, and in spite of everything, he knew how to take care of himself. And Hogan had left Mills with one specific command: _Don't let Staller out of your sight_.

Mills closed the door, and went over to his own bunk. He picked up the book he'd left lying there, a battered copy of _Five Red Herrings_ which had circulated the entire camp for the last year before finally reaching Barracks 2. It wasn't his preferred style of literature, but books were hard to come by round here, and you took what you could get. At least it would give him something to do while he watched Staller and waited for Carter to resurface. But if Carter didn't...

The barracks door opened, jolting him out of his dilemma. He noticed without really taking it in that Staller was almost as startled as he was. Both of them relaxed when they saw who it was.

"Just come to take a look at Carter," said Wilson, gazing from one man to the other in perplexity. Receiving no reply, he headed towards Hogan's quarters.

Mills put down the novel. "He's not in there. I think he's down below."

Wilson had stopped in his tracks, his shoulders dropping in a sigh of exasperation. "What's with him? I told him to stay put." He turned towards the tunnel entrance, but once again Mills stopped him.

"I better go," he said. "I know where he'll be. Just wait here a couple of minutes, I'll fetch him right up."

The medic's arrival was a lucky break. Wilson didn't know what was going on, but his presence was all that was needed to keep Staller from causing trouble. Even so, Mills didn't waste a moment. He was already at the tunnel entrance before Wilson answered, and he hardly noticed the discomfort of his injured shoulder as he went down the ladder. Grabbing a flashlight from the supply, he made straight for the lab.

He slowed down as he got close to the collapsed tunnel. The amount of work still to be done was obvious, the width of the passage almost halved by the temporary scaffolding of salvaged timbers which supported the earth above. It didn't look like it would hold up for long, and without realizing it, Mills held his breath as he proceeded.

As he had expected, he found Carter in the lab, standing quite still just inside the entrance. He'd gotten as far as picking up a piece of blackened wood, but clearly had no idea what to do with it. There was nowhere to put it down.

Mills hesitated before he spoke. "Carter, you're not supposed to be in here." Carter didn't answer, and after a few seconds Mills went on. "Wilson's in the barracks, he came to check on you."

"Yeah, okay. In a minute," replied Carter. He took a tentative step towards the center of the lab, his eyes on what was left of the workbench.

"Does something about that look funny to you?" he asked.

Mills came forward. The top of the bench had been splintered by the force of the explosion, the legs blasted in fragments to the corners of the lab. Vaguely, he recognized the lump of wood in Carter's hand as one of those pieces.

About a third of the benchtop remained where it had fallen, the rest was all over the place. Mills gazed at it, trying to see what Carter was getting at. "Is it right side up?" he asked, after a moment.

"I think so," said Carter. He handed his own flashlight to Mills, and leaned forward, awkwardly and with a soft hiss of discomfort, to put his fingertips on the jagged, upward-pointing splinters. "It's been blown up from beneath," he added. "Whatever it was, it was under the bench. It just blew it to bits."

"Well, I guess that settles it," observed Mills. "Hogan's right, there was something planted under there."

"Yeah, but..." Carter straightened up, gazing around. "What happened to the chlorate?" he went on. "It would have been right on top of the blast. Maybe it went off, too. Maybe that was why the explosion was so big. Maybe..." He broke off abruptly, his eyes falling on the remains of the workbench again. "So I guess it was partly my fault after all," he mumbled.

"Don't worry about that now," said Mills after a few seconds. "We can work that out later, when we get the place cleaned up."

"We'll never get it cleaned up." Carter's voice wavered. "I mean, look at it." He made a vague gesture towards the rest of the lab, the smashed fragments of what must have been jars and beakers, the shelves half-torn from their brackets. "I don't even know where to start. It's wrecked. I got nothing left, this was..." Once again, he stopped in mid-sentence.

"We'll fix it." But Mills, as he surveyed the damage, had doubts. He ran the flashlight beam across the debris-strewn floor, then around the walls. As it reached the furthest corner of the lab, he stopped.

"Carter," he said, his tone softening into a query.

He moved forward, stumbling a little as his feet met another piece of the workbench. The flashlight beam dropped, then came up again, illuminating the end wall, and the cabinet where the most volatile chemicals were stored. This had somehow survived the disaster, although the glass in the doors was cracked.

Mills came to a halt in front of it, and after a moment's indecision, he opened one of the doors.

"But...but that's..." Carter had followed him, and now stood staring at the big jar full of white powdery crystals which had caught Mills's attention.

"That's the chlorate," said Mills. "You must have put it back."

Carter stared at the jar, apparently petrified with disbelief. "I - I don't remember," he stammered at last.

"Well, it's there, all right." Mills glanced at him. "It was probably three or four minutes after I left before you came after me. Plenty of time to make sure everything was safe before you left the lab."

"Yeah, I guess so," murmured Carter, still bewildered. "So..."

"So the whole of the blast was down to Staller," Mills concluded. "He sure wasn't fooling around, he meant to make sure of the job. God, the bastard! "

He closed the cabinet and turned away. "We better get back to the barracks. Can't keep the medic waiting."

"I still don't get it," said Carter. "Why'd he want to do something like that?" Then, after a pause, "How'd he do it, anyway? He can't have brought the stuff with him from London."

It was a question that hadn't yet occurred to Mills, but the answer was obvious. "He had plenty of time down here on his own," he said. "He found the lab, all right. Maybe he found the munitions store as well."

There was a moment of silence, then a burst of indignation from Carter. "Well, that just takes the cake! Of all the dirty tricks...!"

"What do you mean, Carter?" asked Mills, totally confused. He'd never seen Carter really angry before. Nobody had. But this last discovery was one step too far, and Carter's eyes flashed as he answered.

"He can't do that and get away with it. If anyone's going to blow up _my_ lab with_ my_ dynamite, it's gonna be me!"


	23. Chapter 23

Carter took a deep breath, and let it out again. "What do we do now?" he asked.

"I guess we go back up to the barracks, and don't let on that we've worked out how the explosion happened," replied Mills, after a few moments of thought. "At least, till the colonel gets back." He glanced sideways at Carter. "You okay?"

"Fine," said Carter tersely. Then, after a few seconds, he amended it. "I don't know. I still don't get it. I mean, he tried to kill me, for Pete's sakes. What's that about?"

Mills shook his head. "No idea. But he took a real big risk, so - "

He broke off, and both of them turned towards the entrance. Then without a word, they both moved back, one on each side of the doorway. Carter was still gripping the length of scorched wood he'd picked up, and he raised it to his shoulder, as if it were a baseball bat. Mills switched off the flashlight, but kept it in his hand.

For several seconds they heard no further noise. Then there came a clatter of falling timbers, and a low-pitched exclamation, and both men relaxed slightly. Mills moved forward, turning the flashlight on. "Wilson?" he called softly.

The medic came into view. "Jesus, this place is a mess," he observed sourly. "Can't see a damn thing, tripped over a stack of planks and nearly went ass over ears."

"Well, nobody told you to come down here," said Carter.

Wilson grunted. "Mills, you said you'd bring him right back up."

"Yeah, we got distracted," replied Mills, with a quick glance around. "Did you leave Staller alone in the barracks?"

"Well, no, as it happens, I didn't," said Wilson. "You got any particular reason why I shouldn't?"

Carter and Mills exchanged glances. Neither of them wanted to put the idea into words. "Staller's a problem," said Mills at last. "Hogan thinks he might be a double agent."

"You're kidding." Wilson looked from one to the other. "You're not kidding."

"He planted a bomb down here," Carter snapped back. "You think I'd kid about something like that?"

"Easy, Carter." Mills held up one hand. "Look, Wilson, there's a whole lot of stuff we can't really talk about. But this isn't the first time Staller's been running an undercover operation that's gone bad. And as far as anyone can work out, he's the only common factor."

"And you're saying he's responsible for the mess down here?" Wilson gazed around the lab, taking in the destruction for the first time. "What was he trying to do, wreck the whole operation?"

"No, he...wait, I don't think anyone thought of that," said Mills slowly. "We all just assumed he was out to get Carter."

"Why'd he want to do that?" Wilson gazed from one man to the other.

"Who knows? He was at the same air base as Carter back in England, there was something going on there, some intelligence operation Staller was in charge of. It went wrong." Mills broke off, glancing at Carter uncertainly. "Can't tell you the details, Wilson. But..."

"Stuff happened," Carter put in abruptly. "Staller covered it up." He pinched his lips together, breathing hard.

"Hogan thinks he was passing information to the Germans back then, and that he's got an informant inside the Düsseldorf Underground doing the same now," Mills finished up.

"And there's no other link?" asked Wilson, frowning.

Mills grimaced. "I was stationed there, but not till later. Other than that, there's nothing we know about. Staller had an inside man at the 182nd, but he's dead, so whoever he's got at Düsseldorf, it's someone else."

He broke off, as Carter twitched, and uttered a soft murmur. "Carter, you better get back up to the barracks, you look done in," he said after a quick glance. "I'll be up in a minute. I want to have another look round."

"Uh-huh," murmured Carter. He was gazing past Mills towards the tunnel, his forehead drawn into a worried pucker.

"I'll see to him," said Wilson. "Be careful, Mills. Don't do anything to make that shoulder worse."

He gestured to Carter, who went slowly, and with great reluctance. He didn't say a word as they traversed the tunnel.

"Can you manage the ladder okay?" asked Wilson.

"I got down, didn't I?" Carter's tone was decidedly peevish. "Why's everyone got to make such a fuss?"

Wilson raised his eyebrows, regarding him with exasperation. "Well, at any rate, you can put that stick down before you try." He removed the piece of wood from Carter's hand, and dropped it behind the ladder. "Take it slow," he added.

The warning was unnecessary. Carter had almost forgotten his injuries in his distress and anger over the destruction of his lab, but as soon as he started up the ladder, he remembered. Every movement tore at his bruised muscles, and by the time he reached the top he was sweating, and his limbs trembling from the effort.

He stumbled over the edge of the bunk, and leaned against one of the bedposts, getting his breath back, waiting for Wilson to follow. He avoided looking at the man sitting at the table. He didn't want anything more to do with Staller now than could be helped.

"What the hell...?" Wilson's voice, just behind him. Carter turned, alerted by something in the medic's tone.

It wasn't Staller sitting there. It was Kellet, staring at the two of them with disapproval. Of all the men to leave in charge of a possible Nazi agent, probably the worst choice, although as Carter quickly realized, Wilson couldn't be blamed for not knowing that.

"Where's Staller?" Wilson demanded, taking a couple of steps forward.

Kellet looked at him as if he were insane. "He went down there," he said, with a nod towards the tunnel entrance. "Just after you did."

"Oh, jeez!" muttered Carter. His grip tightened on the post. "Oh, jeez, Mills is still down there."

Before Wilson could stop him, he swung himself over the bunk frame and back into the tunnel. Wilson followed within seconds. Kellet stared after them, open-mouthed with astonishment. "What the fuck's going on?" he muttered.

He started towards the tunnel. Then he turned back, hobbling with surprising speed to the chair at the far end of the table. Hidden under the seat was a pistol, kept loaded and in working order for emergencies. Kellet grabbed the gun, slammed the seat back down again and headed for the tunnel.

Carter had already reached the bottom of the ladder. He snatched up the blackened, splintered length of wood Wilson had left there, and raced back towards the lab.

* * *

Mills couldn't have said what it was he hoped to find, as he surveyed the lab one last time. Sure in his own mind that Carter's assessment of the blast was accurate, and confident Hogan would agree, yet he knew it wasn't proof. Staller was probably smart enough to argue his way out of it, and to know exactly where to direct his counter-attack. And Carter had been through enough at the major's hands already.

It seemed as if there was nothing more to be learned here. Mills ran the flashlight beam across the floor, trying to locate the rest of the workbench, but it was impossible. He was about to give up, when something caught his eye at the edge of the light. He stared at it for a few seconds, then went over and picked it up.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered. "How the hell did that survive?"

Blackened and twisted by the force and heat of the blast, yet he still recognized what it had once been. He turned it over, examining it with care. It wasn't absolute evidence of sabotage, but it came close, and Hogan would want to see it.

He wrapped it in his handkerchief and slipped it into his jacket pocket for safe keeping, then started back towards the radio room. But he didn't get far before he stopped, turning his head to listen. Then he set off again. Just past the next turn of the tunnel, he paused before slipping quietly into a small side passage.

He wasn't certain, but he thought he had heard someone following him.

There was nothing now, and he began to think he'd imagined it. Maybe his nerve was going, after the tunnel collapse. This narrow passage was unlit, and the darkness and silence, and the smell of the earth, made him feel slightly dizzy. He'd better get up to the barracks before he started getting scared.

He stepped back into the main tunnel. A startled exclamation from just behind him gave him warning, but before he could turn, a heavy body crashed into him, jerking his injured shoulder into instant pain. Instinctively, he swung round, trying to come to grips with his assailant, at the cost of another sharp white-hot jolt. Somehow he managed to stay focused, but he knew he was in trouble. For a start, there was just enough light for him to see that his attacker was Staller, and that the major was armed.

Fighting against a further wave of pain, Mills flung his body weight forward, gripping Staller's wrist with both hands. He recognized instinctively that he had one advantage, Staller appeared to have virtually no hand combat skills. Mills at least knew how to handle himself in a free fight, if only he could keep from passing out.

"Staller!" Carter's voice echoed along the tunnel. Mills, in the heat of the moment, scarcely noticed, but Staller almost jumped out of his skin, losing his balance and both men went over. The shock of impact finished Mills' endurance. He released his hold, and Staller scrambled free and fled.

Carter started after him, but Mills managed to grab his ankle as he went past. "Carter, no!" he gasped. "He's got a knife."

Wilson dropped beside him. "You hurt?"

"Just my shoulder," Mills got out, punctuating the reply with a hissing inward breath as Carter tried to pull away.

"Mills, will you let go?" he jerked out. "We gotta stop him, now."

"What's up?" Kellet came into sight, moving with an awkward but rapid half-hobble, the pistol clutched firmly in his hand. "Pretty boy been getting fresh with someone?"

"Oh, for the love of..." muttered Wilson. "Mills, your hand's bleeding. Looks like he got you, after all. You better let go of Carter so I can have a look. Carter, don't you move one step. Kellet, Major Staller went that way. See if you can find him. And be careful, he pulled a knife on Mills."

Kellet's eyes widened with astonishment. A snide retort seemed to hover on his lips for a second, but then he braced, and set off in pursuit, while the medic turned his attention back to his patient.

Carter, released from Mills' restraining grip on his leg, stumbled to the other side of the tunnel. He sent a desperate look at Mills. The same thought was in both men's minds.

It was looking bad for Staller. But neither of them trusted Kellet, either. Mills thought rapidly, then nodded. "Watch yourself," he murmured, and before Wilson could interfere, Carter was off.

"Are you out of your mind, Mills?" demanded Wilson. "You're getting as bad as the rest of them. Absolutely crazy."

Mills didn't answer him, but as he gazed down the tunnel after Carter, he started to think maybe Wilson was right.

It seemed a very long time, but was in fact just minutes, before Carter and Kellet reappeared.

"He made the emergency exit," growled Kellet. "I could have gotten a shot at him, but Carter wouldn't let me."

"You could have brought the roof down," Carter protested. "It's still pretty unstable, any loud noise..."

"And whose fault is that, pal?"

"Actually, it was Staller's," said Mills. "I found this in the lab." With a stifled grunt he put his hand into his pocket and brought out what was in there.

The other three stared at it "Is that..?" Wilson began after a few seconds.

"It's an alarm clock." Carter leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the shattered dial and blistered shell. "One of those cheap ones we get in Hammelburg. We use them as timers on demolition packs, we got half a dozen in the workshop. He must have found that, as well as the dynamite."

Kellet turned a bright, suspicious glare on him. "Wait a minute. You're saying...what are you saying, anyway?"

"Someone planted a bomb in the lab," replied Mills tersely. He was watching Kellet closely, but saw only astonishment, which gradually gave way to outrage. It was pretty obvious, he hadn't had a clue about what was going on, unless he was a lot smarter, or a much better actor, than they thought.

"Staller?" he demanded. "You mean he's the son of a bitch who - Jesus, he could have killed me."

"Don't take it personally, Kellet," observed Wilson dryly. "Doesn't seem likely he had you in mind."

Kellet wasn't listening. An ugly scowl settled on his brow, as he took in this new scenario.

"Carter," he said at last, "you should have let me shoot the fucker."


	24. Chapter 24

"Carter, this is insane." Wilson had followed Carter to the wardrobe storage area, protesting every step of the way. "We should get some of the guys from the other barracks to go after Staller. You're not fit for this. Neither is Mills."

"Mills doesn't have to come along," replied Carter, as he scrambled into the _Luftwaffe_ captain's uniform he'd used a few days before.

Mills didn't say a word. He'd already made his position clear on that. If Carter left camp, Mills was going with him.

Wilson threw up his hands. "I don't know why I bother," he grumbled. "Nobody round here ever listens to medical advice. At least let me see how your stitches are holding up."

"Don't have time," said Carter. "He's already got fifteen minutes on us."

"Listen, Carter, he must have heard us talking in the lab, he knows you guys are on to him," Wilson persisted. "He already pulled a knife on Mills - "

"I'm pretty sure that was an accident," Mills put in. "I surprised him, he didn't know I was there. I guess it was just a reflex."

"Yeah, well, those reflexes could get someone hurt," Wilson snapped back. "I don't see any sense in it, Carter. You don't even know which way he went."

"I got an idea," Carter replied, flushing. "Newkirk's supposed to be meeting Karl Weber on the Hammelburg road today. One thing you gotta say for Staller, he looks after his own men." The color in his face deepened. "I bet anything you like, he's gone to warn Weber that we're on to them. We gotta get there before Newkirk does, or he could get hurt."

For a few seconds Wilson regarded him with exasperation, before he turned and started rifling through the racks of German uniforms. "Well, I guess you and me are going, too, Kellet," he said over his shoulder

"No way." Kellet, who had trailed along behind the others, broke into immediate objection. "It's broad daylight, what if the guards spot us? A feller could get shot out there."

"Well, it's always possible Staller went straight to the front gate to report to Klink," said Mills. "In that case, you could get shot right here in the tunnel." He pulled the uniform topcoat over his shoulders, wincing at the pain it caused him. He didn't particularly want Kellet with them, but at least if he came along, they'd know what he was up to. So he kept talking. "But don't put yourself out over it. If you're chicken, you're probably no use anyway."

Kellet wasn't sitting down under anything like that, not from Mills. He growled under his breath, then snatched the uniform from Wilson's hands.

Carter was already dressed. He checked his pistol before putting it into his holster. "I'll wait at the emergency exit," he said. "You guys have got three minutes, then I'm going."

"Not on your own," said Mills. "We'll be there."

Carter nodded, and disappeared without another word.

"What's gotten into him, Mills?" asked Wilson, changing rapidly into a slightly oversized private's uniform.

"Tell you later," replied Mills, knowing he would do no such thing. But he didn't want to get into an argument now. "I'd better go after him, make sure he doesn't take off on us." He donned his steel helmet, snatched up his rifle, and slipped away before Wilson could stop him.

He found Carter at the foot of the ladder leading to the emergency exit in the woods, one hand on the wall, the other pressed against his side. His face was drawn, but not with pain.

"Carter, are you scared?" said Mills.

"Yeah." Carter sounded subdued. "I'm real scared."

"Then let me and Wilson deal with it. You don't have to do this."

"Yeah, I do," replied Carter, gazing up towards the exit. "There's something I thought of, back in the lab. It's probably really dumb, but...but I gotta see if I'm right."

"What was it?" asked Mills, as Carter seemed reluctant to say more.

"I'd rather not say, in case I'm wrong. 'Cause if nobody else thought of it...well, I'm not that smart, Mills, it's probably a really stupid idea."

"You're smarter than you think, Carter," said Mills. "Suppose you tell me what's bugging you? Maybe I can check on it, or Wilson can. You don't have to..."

"You can't," Carter interrupted. "I have to go see for myself. But, gosh, I hope I'm wrong. I don't want to be right."

Mills didn't like the sound of it, and he was about to press for more details, when Wilson arrived, with a resentful Kellet trailing behind him. Carter took a deep breath, getting himself into mission mode. "Okay, this is how we do it," he said. "First guy out is the most likely to be spotted. So I'll go first. The rest of you wait one minute, then if you don't hear any shooting, you follow, one at a time. Wait at the top till I open the hatch, that way I can make sure it's safe. Mills, you bring up the rear. Okay?"

He had automatically steadied, as he went on. He had done this many times, though only rarely in daylight, and he knew the procedure. Without thinking about it, he was taking charge, not just because he was senior in rank, but because he had the most experience at this. The others responded to the change in his tone, even Kellet indicating surly agreement.

Carter nodded, and started the ascent. It was slow, and more painful than he'd anticipated, but he had no choice, not since that sudden moment of illumination back in the lab. If this new idea was right, awful as it was, then everything made sense. But it was something nobody except Carter himself could confirm. He couldn't confide in anyone, not even Mills, who already knew practically all there was to know. If only Colonel Hogan was here...!

He reached the top of the ladder, and cautiously pushed up the hatch. This was the most dangerous moment, as the emergency exit was within sight of the front gate and the sentry tower. If any of the guards happened to see him, this whole excursion would come to a very quick, very messy end. But he was lucky, the Krauts were all looking elsewhere. He tumbled out, and crouched behind the fake tree stump, biting his lower lip and counting seconds.

At one minute, he raised his head a little. No good, the man in the guard tower was looking this way. Carter dropped back, and waited, and after a few seconds the guard turned back to check the activity in the compound. Quickly, Carter lifted the hatch over the tunnel to let Wilson scramble out, then Kellet. Another interruption, as the arrival of the motorcycle courier with the official mail got the guards on the gate looking in their direction, before Mills was able to join them.

Staller now had a lead of half an hour, if he was in fact heading for the rendezvous point. But his knowledge of the area was limited to his one trip to Hammelburg with Hogan, and that had been at night. His lack of familiarity was sure to slow him down, whereas Carter knew the woods well enough to have no hesitation in choosing the correct path. He set off in the lead, fast enough to result in further grumbles from the recalcitrant Kellet.

There was no sign of the major, but that wasn't surprising, the woods were very dense just here.

Wilson dropped to the rear, the better to keep both Mills and Carter under his eye. He wasn't worried about Kellet, but Mills wasn't doing so well, and Carter's nervous tension grew more apparent with every passing minute.

"How much further is it?" asked the medic eventually.

Carter stopped, leaning one hand against the nearest tree trunk. "Not far," he panted. "That's the road just down there. The Flensheim turnoff is about half a mile - "

He broke off abruptly, turning his head.

"Oh, shit, that was a gunshot," said Kellet.

Carter was the first to recover his wits, completely forgetting his pain in a surge of dread. It wasn't yet eleven hundred hours, but if Newkirk had turned up early...

He hurtled down the slope towards the meeting point, somehow avoiding the protruding roots and rocks in his path, covering the distance faster than he'd ever moved in his life. Before he got there, a movement across a narrow break in the trees to his left brought him to a halt. Someone was there, and even as Carter caught sight of him, the man reached the edge of the clearing and fell to the ground. Without stopping to think, Carter ran towards him.

He knew it wasn't Newkirk by the clothes. But it wasn't till he got close that he realized it was Staller. He'd been wounded in the upper arm and was bleeding freely, but was trying desperately, without success, to get back on his feet.

"Let me have a look." Wilson had been close behind Carter all the way, and now he pushed past and dropped on one knee beside Staller.

Completely bewildered, Carter swung round, scanning the woods for any sign of motion, his own pistol in his hand, though he didn't remember getting it out. It was beyond his ability right now to reason how Staller had gotten himself shot, or who was responsible. But as he gazed around, another man, fair-haired, slightly built, wearing _Luftwaffe_ uniform, emerged from the trees where Staller had first come into sight.

Carter froze, shocked, then the reflex of sheer panic jerked him into motion. But his shot went wide, and without a word, the _Luftwaffe_ captain fled.

"Jesus, Carter!" snapped Kellet from behind him. "You can do better than that." Without waiting for an answer, he took off in pursuit, still hobbling but covering ground all the same.

Mills took one quick look at Carter. "You better wait here," he added quickly, and went after Kellet. Carter stared after them, almost numb with disbelief.

"Carter." The whisper came from the barely conscious Staller. "I didn't know...I thought...he was one of ours..."

"Save your breath, major," said Wilson. "You lost a lot of blood, don't exert yourself." He glanced at Carter, who still hadn't moved. "Who was that, anyway? The guy who's supposed to be meeting Newkirk? What was his name again?"

Carter didn't even hear him. He'd never met Karl Weber, but he had recognized the man on sight, and his stomach knotted as he tried to come to grips with the fact that he'd been right, that his almost incredible suspicion had turned out to be true. It was almost a relief.

At least now he knew why Staller had been so desperate to get rid of him.


	25. Chapter 25

The prisoners on the work detail were not exerting themselves, and the current round of road repairs seemed unlikely to be any more effective than their previous attempt. However, they were behaving well, and the guards had become complacent enough not to notice there was one man less to watch than there was supposed to be.

"Newkirk should be nearly there by now," murmured Kinch, who had worked his way along the edge of the road to where Hogan was standing.

Hogan nodded absently, but didn't speak, and Kinch came to a halt, keeping his eyes on the road surface as if looking for flaws. "What's wrong, Colonel?" he asked, without looking up.

"Not sure," replied Hogan. "I'm still stuck on why Staller tried to knock Carter off. It doesn't make sense. Nobody does something like that without a good reason, unless they're crazy. And whatever else he is, I'm pretty sure he's not crazy."

"You still think it's got something to do with the 182nd?"

"It's got to be that, Kinch." Hogan tipped his cap back. "There's something we've missed. For some reason, which I can't put my finger on, Staller thinks Carter's a danger to him, or to Weber. Or else we're on the wrong track, and someone else wants Carter dead." He paused, gazing along the road with narrowed eyes. "You know, I keep coming back to Lieutenant Mason. He was Staller's inside man at the 182nd, and Carter knew him. That has to be the connection. If there was any way he could have survived that plane crash, gotten himself to Germany and resurfaced as Weber..."

He fell silent, following the trail back in his mind, from the Düsseldorf Underground to a downed plane in the English Channel, and from there to 182 Squadron, and a cold, dark night that had almost destroyed an innocent man. Then forward again, this time focusing on Staller, analysing his part in the story. And suddenly Hogan's thoughts came to a halt, as he found himself replaying the first conversation he'd had with Staller, the night the major had arrived at Stalag 13.

"Oh, crap," he said softly.

"Colonel?" Kinch stopped working, startled by the tone in Hogan's voice. "What's up?"

"It wasn't Mason. Staller lied, right from the start," growled Hogan. "All along, we've been assuming his inside man at the 182nd was dead, because we knew Mason couldn't have survived that crash. But we only had Staller's word for it that Mason was actually the insider. That's why he couldn't risk letting Carter meet Weber, because Carter would have known him on sight." His expression tightened, as he considered what that implied.

"You don't think..." Kinch broke off abruptly.

"Yeah. He's one of the bastards that did that to Carter. It's the only explanation we've found so far that makes sense. It also means Staller's not the only connection between Düsseldorf and 182 Squadron. That puts Weber, or whoever he really is, right in the frame as the double agent."

"And Newkirk's just gone to bring him back here, so we can take him back to Stalag 13," added Kinch. "Colonel..."

"Okay, just hold it a minute, Kinch. Let me think." Hogan raised his head, making an apparently casual survey of the road. "Even if I'm right, we still need to get Weber out of circulation, and the best way to do that is to bring him back to camp. But we can't take him back with the work party as planned, in case he's got any of his Gestapo friends tailing him. Kinch, how fast can you get to the Flensheim road?"

"Pretty fast," replied Kinch. "Hopefully fast enough."

"Good. Give me a couple of minutes to make sure the guards aren't watching, then get going. Tell Newkirk to take Weber back to camp, by the most complicated route he can manage. If anyone's following them, he's got to make sure he loses them on the way. They go in through the emergency tunnel, and he's to keep Weber underground till I get back. Under no circumstances is Weber to see Carter, or Staller. Once you've given Newkirk his instructions, you hightail it back here as fast as you can. Is that clear?"

"Clear, Colonel," replied Kinch.

LeBeau had been keeping Schultz occupied, by describing in detail the feast he planned to prepare on the day when, as the Frenchman phrased it, "the dirty Boche finally accept the inevitable, and surrender". The details were so spectacular as to render Schultz almost insensible, and he didn't respond when Hogan hailed him in a sharp, accusatory tone.

"For Pete's sakes, Schultz," complained the colonel, "will you pay attention? This is serious."

Schultz returned to the real world with a start. "Oh, please, Colonel Hogan, don't shout. Whatever it is, it can't be that important. LeBeau was just about to tell me..."

"Well, it'll have to wait." Hogan stood with one hand on his hip, the other gesturing towards the woods on the opposite side of the road, away from where Kinch was waiting. "I'm appalled, Schultz. All this time you've been holding out on us."

"_W-w-was ist..._?" stammered Schultz.

"I know we're not on the same side, but there's such a thing as honesty, and decency, and trust," Hogan went on. "So come clean, Schultz. Just when were you planning to tell us about the wolves in these woods?"

Schultz boggled at him, and a faint, hysterical squeak came from one of the other guards.

"W-w-wolves...?"

* * *

Kellet's initial burst of speed hadn't lasted long. His injured leg slowed him down, and within a couple of minutes Mills overtook him. The trees thinned out closer to the road, but the fleeing _Luftwaffe_ captain - presumably Weber - was no longer in sight. Apparently he'd veered off, unwilling to risk being caught out in the open.

Mills slowed, scanning the woods. He no longer had any clear idea what was going on, but he knew one thing. Carter had recognized Weber, and from his reaction he hadn't been happy to see him. It was bad news, whichever way you looked at it.

After a momentary hesitation, Mills turned to the left, making his way along a narrow path between heavy undergrowth, well aware that while it was the most likely direction for Weber to have taken, it was also a perfect situation for an ambush. He knew Kellet was not far behind him, but was not so sure whether Kellet would come to his aid if necessary.

For some considerable distance there was no sign of any activity, and Mills began to think he'd made a mistake. He must be well beyond the rendezvous point by now, it wasn't likely Weber had gone this far.

He turned back, his nerves keyed up to such a degree that when a rabbit burst from the bushes and darted across his path, he jumped back almost three feet, his pistol arm snapping into position. For several seconds he held his ground, then as no further sound reached him, he relaxed slightly.

"_Waffe fallen lassen_."

The command came from behind him. Instinctively he half turned.

"Drop the gun, or I'll shoot you right there." This time the man spoke in English. Disconcertingly, his accent was American. Mid-Western, in fact. He could almost have come from the town where Mills had grown up. "And don't play dumb. I know you can understand me. I've met one of your pals before, and he sure as hell ain't German."

He meant Carter, of course. And the tone of his voice, lightly pitched and boyish though it was, left no doubt as to whether he would actually carry out his threat. Mills allowed the gun to fall at his feet.

"Now, turn around, and keep your hands where I can see them," said Weber. The pistol in his hand was aimed squarely at Mills' heart, and at this range he couldn't miss.

"Okay, pal," murmured Mills tightly, "whatever you say." He drew back, raising his hands, knowing that for the moment, he had no choice. Whether Weber wanted a live prisoner, or just didn't want to attract attention by shooting him, didn't matter. Either way, he was in trouble.

Weber took a couple of steps forward, but stayed out of arm's reach. He was breathing as fast as Mills, and his eyes flickered nervously. "Where's the other guy?"

"He went on towards the road." It was probably true. Kellet wasn't very bright.

Weber glanced back the way they'd come, assessing the situation. "All right," he said at last, with a jerk of the chin. "That way, and don't make a sound."

Mills shuffled back a little. If he could just get the guy to come close, maybe he'd have a chance. "You mean, down that way?" he mumbled uncertainly.

"What did I just say? One more word, that's all." Weber moved in. He was almost close enough, but would still have time to fire, if Mills made a wrong move.

"Hold it, buddy."

The shout, from amongst the trees below, startled both men, and Weber turned his head. It was the break Mills needed. He stepped forward, swinging his right arm down to grasp Weber's wrist, forcing the gun away from his own body, then grabbing it with his left hand. As the movement jerked Weber off balance, Mills drove his knee into the man's groin. Weber gasped, and released his hold on the pistol, and Mills, with all his strength, struck upwards.

Kellet had come storming out of the woods, but the business was already done. Weber was down for the count, and beyond.

"Jesus, Mills." Kellet stooped over the unconscious man. "Where'd a guy like you learn to do something like that?"

Mills had dropped to one knee, panting for breath, his face drawn. That last effort had sent yet another searing pain through his injured shoulder. But at Kellet's question he managed a quiet laugh.

"Basic training," he said. "Guys like me don't get through without learning to take care of themselves."

His eyes were on Weber, who lay still, bleeding from the nose. He could be dead. But Mills had a pretty good idea now who he might be, and at that moment, the possibility that he'd killed the son of a bitch didn't trouble him at all.


	26. Chapter 26

Newkirk was still a few minutes away from the rendezvous point when he heard the first shot, and instinct had him diving for cover before his conscious mind had even recognized what it was.

He crouched behind the low dense undergrowth a few yards from the road, every sense alert. The shot had come from somewhere ahead, so it was unlikely to be the guards in charge of the roadwork detail. It could be that a foot patrol from Stalag 13 had come this way. The guards were often nervous, and had been known to start firing into the trees at the first bird-call. Or it might just be a local farmer taking a pot shot at a fox. But it had sounded more like a pistol than a rifle.

This kind of trouble was the last thing Newkirk needed. His only weapon was the broad-bladed knife known informally around camp as "the pencil sharpener", which was always somewhere about his person. Useful up close, but no good at all against firearms. Retreat was probably the prudent choice, but he knew Hogan would expect him to at least find out what was going on.

He stayed still for a couple of minutes, but heard nothing more. He was going to have to make a move, one way or the other. Without making a sound, he rose and set off again, keeping away from the road and threading his way between the trees so as to keep out of sight.

Then came the second shot, and he dropped to the ground again. Definitely a pistol, no doubt this time.

After a few moments he moved on again, this time staying low. He stopped as soon as the Flensheim road came into sight. There was no sign of Weber, or of anyone else. Newkirk glanced at his watch. He'd gotten here ahead of time, so there was a chance Weber hadn't turned up yet. But the gunfire in the woods indicated something had gone badly wrong.

Making a swift, wide circuit around the rendezvous area, Newkirk kept going, along the line of the road. At the first bend, he stopped. There was a small saloon car standing on the edge of the road, possibly Weber's, but the driver was nowhere to be seen.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Newkirk began to retrace his steps, but he didn't get very far.

"_Halt!_"

The command stopped him in his tracks. For a second he stood immobile, debating whether he could run fast enough to get out of sight before they shot him in the back. Not a chance, he decided, and put his hands up. "_Kamerad_," he called back.

His heart thudded so loud, he was sure they'd hear it back at camp, as two SS men emerged from the woods, both with semi-automatic rifles. "_Was machen Sie hier_?" one of them demanded harshly.

Newkirk played dumb. "Sorry, chum. I don't understand," he replied, with a nervous, conciliatory smile.

"_Engländer_?"

"That's right. _Engländer_. Prisoner of war. Understand? Prisoner of..." He broke off, as the man gave him a shove in the direction of the road. "All right, no need to get pushy."

"_Halten Sie den Mund_." This was accompanied by another hard shove. Any trouble, and these men were likely to get rough. Newkirk held his tongue, and started towards the rendezvous point.

* * *

"His name's Lewis."

Carter squatted on the ground a little distance away, watching as Wilson worked on Staller, making no effort to help. The medic had been forced to improvise, using Staller's own shirt, torn into strips, to try to stop the bleeding and to bandage the wound.

"Who? This one, or the one that shot him?" asked Wilson distractedly.

"Weber," said Carter. "He was calling himself Lewis when he was at 182 Squadron."

"And you knew him there?"

"Yeah, I knew him."

"Carter..." Staller whispered. He was drifting in and out, but Wilson saw no particular need to be gentle with him, and the discomfort of the makeshift bandage was enough to rouse him back to consciousness. He broke off, gasping as Wilson raised the injured arm slightly, then tried again. "Listen, Carter, you have to understand..."

"Don't you say one more word," Carter interrupted, and even Wilson flinched. "You want to know something, pal? We don't have to send spies back to London. We're allowed to shoot 'em right here."

"I'm not a spy," Staller panted. "I made a mistake, but..."

"You got that right," Carter shot back.

"Take it easy, Carter," Wilson put in quickly. "You know you're not going to shoot him out of hand, so just calm down. Newkirk's supposed to be meeting Weber, right? He's likely to show up any minute, you better go and tell him what's going on. And then we gotta work out how to get this guy back to camp. Even if he is working for the Krauts, we can't leave him here."

Carter flushed at the rebuke, and stood up. "You should keep out of sight," he said, focusing on the practicalities to avoid thinking too much about the broader situation. "You're in the open here, better get behind the trees a bit."

He helped Wilson to move the injured man to a more sheltered position. It was too much for Staller, and by the time they settled him, he'd passed out. "This is going to be one hell of a trip back to camp," muttered Wilson. "It's okay, Carter, I'll handle it now. Get going."

Carter nodded, and headed off without a word, ashamed of his momentary loss of control. The reaction had left him feeling shaky, and his steps slowed as he made his way down the slope towards the road.

Before he got there, the sound of voices reached him. For a moment he thought it might be Mills and Kellet, and he was on the point of calling out when he stopped abruptly. He couldn't make out the words, but the rhythm and intonation were characteristically German. He stood irresolute, then started forward again.

Two men were at the rendezvous point. One of them was dressed in civilian clothes, the other was SS. Carter dropped to a crouch against the nearest tree, trying to figure out what to do next. If Newkirk landed in the middle of this...

Just as he reached that point, the SS guard straightened up, raising his gun. Carter raised his head slightly, fearing the worst. Sure enough, a figure in the blue uniform of the RAF came into sight, escorted by another two SS men.

The plain-clothes man - he must be Gestapo, Carter realized - strode forward, snapping a question at his men. Newkirk glanced sideways, apparently contemplating making a break for it, then rejecting the idea as suicidal.

They were too far away for Carter to hear what was being said. He rose, and edged his way through the trees to get closer. The guards were frisking their prisoner, and as Carter got within earshot, one of them turned to his superior, holding out Newkirk's knife.

The Gestapo man held it up. "_Was ist das_?"

"Would you believe it was a present from my Mum?" said Newkirk.

"_Woher kommen Sie_?" the man demanded curtly.

"Listen, mate," Newkirk replied irritably, "_Sprechen Sie _English? Because I don't _sprechen_ Kraut. I'm a prisoner of war, not a ruddy linguist."

The Gestapo regarded him impassively. "You say you are a prisoner of war?"

"That's right." Newkirk returned the man's gaze without blinking. "From Stalag 13, just down the road there."

"How does a prisoner of war come to be so far from his prison?" the man enquired, in a mildly interested tone.

"Ah, well, you've got me bang up to rights there," admitted Newkirk. "We're doing some repair work on the Hammelburg Road, and, well, it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss, so I legged it."

"And you just happened to come this way?"

"Just my rotten luck, wasn't it? How was I to know you lot was here?"

"You weren't planning to meet someone at this road junction?"

Newkirk's expression was a masterpiece of bewilderment. "No. If I'd known anyone was here, I'd have gone a different way, wouldn't I?"

The man stared at him in silence for a few moments. "Where is Captain Weber?" he barked abruptly.

The surprise attack didn't work. "Captain who? Don't think we've got anyone called Weber at Stalag 13," said Newkirk, with a puzzled frown. "There's a Sergeant Werbel - no, wait a minute, he was transferred to - "

"That will do," the Gestapo broke in.

He turned, and walked a few steps away, pursing his lips as he considered. Then he stopped, and turned his head to look at Newkirk.

"So, if you are not the man Captain Weber was to meet here," he said coolly, "then you are of no interest to us."

"None at all, sir," Newkirk agreed. "So I suppose that means you'll be taking me back to Stalag 13, then."

The Gestapo laughed. "We do not have time for that." Then, as Newkirk realized what that meant, the man threw an order to his men.

"Shoot him."


	27. Chapter 27

Newkirk froze, too stunned to even protest, and without thinking, Carter broke from the cover of the trees, and stumbled forward. The soldiers, startled, spun round, turning their rifles away from Newkirk towards the new arrival.

"_Halt_." The order stopped them in their tracks. For a couple of seconds nobody moved. Then the Gestapo man came forward.

"Captain Weber?" he asked in German.

Carter stared at him, mystified. What the heck was the guy talking about?

"My name is Faulmann," the man went on. "I was sent to follow you to the Underground hideout, as you requested. I know we were told to keep out of sight, but we heard gunfire in the woods, we were concerned something had gone wrong."

"Uh..." Carter made a desperate attempt to pull himself together. "Uh, I heard it, too. But..."

"Are you all right, Captain?" said Faulmann. "You are Captain Weber, am I right?"

"Yes," replied Carter, as he belatedly came to grips with Faulmann's error. "Yes, that's who I am. Captain Weber."

Faulmann smiled, saluted, then held out his hand.

"I have heard a great deal about you, and the work you've been doing for the Fatherland," he said. "It's an honor to finally make your acquaintance, Captain. Colonel Eisner is looking forward to meeting you as well, he is expected to arrive from Berlin at any time."

Carter, increasingly muddled, tried at once to return both salute and handshake. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Newkirk staring at him, too bewildered to make any attempt to take advantage of the diversion. Just as well, maybe. Any wrong move on his part could be fatal. It was going to be up to Carter to try to get them both out of this.

"What is going on here?" he asked in clipped tones.

Faulmann flicked a glance at Newkirk. "We thought this might have been your Underground contact. But he claims to be an escaped prisoner from the Luftstalag not far from here."

"And you were going to shoot him? Have you any idea how much trouble that could cause?" Somehow Carter managed to keep the panic out of his voice. The result was a close approximation of stern disapproval, and Faulmann went red.

"What kind of trouble? I don't understand," he said.

_Why ask me, pal? I got no idea_, thought Carter. But he had to come up with something. "Well...well, because I'm supposed to be meeting some Underground people here," he replied, grasping at the only fact he knew. "Those people are really suspicious. If you shoot this man, they're going to know you were here. And that could blow my cover wide open. You've probably done enough damage, by not staying out of sight."

Faulmann's expression darkened. "I did what I thought was my duty, Captain," he said. "So what would you have us do with the man? Take him back to headquarters with us?"

That suggestion, though better than his original intention, was not particularly desirable. Carter bit his lip, regarding Newkirk with a frown. "Return him to the Stalag," he said at last.

"But won't that be just as much of a risk to your cover? If he talks - "

"Even if he did," Carter interrupted, "who's he going to tell? It's a prison camp, the story won't get beyond the barbed wire."

Faulmann shook his head slowly. "I don't like it," he said. "Our orders are to keep you in sight, Captain, not to provide a taxi service for stray enemy prisoners. If it were possible to hand him over to the Stalag without compromising our own operation, then naturally it would be the best solution. But under the circumstances it will be much easier to dispose of him."

His argument made terrifying sense. Carter had the feeling the situation was slipping out of his grasp, as he tried to think of a way to counter the man's logic, and he teetered on the edge of desperation as nothing came to him.

Had he known it, help was at hand. Wilson hadn't been the only one to remember Newkirk would soon be at the rendezvous point. The thought had also occurred to Mills, as he and Kellet secured their unconscious prisoner, using Mills' suspenders, as they hadn't thought to bring any rope, to tie his wrists behind his back.

Mills was in a lot of pain, now that the rush of adrenalin had worn off, and his head spun as he straightened up. He closed his eyes for a moment, but the dizziness lingered. "One of us better get to the Flensheim road," he said. "Newkirk's probably there by now, he'll have no idea what's been happening."

Kellet gave a final jerk to the knot, and looked up. "You look like you're about to pass out, pretty boy," he observed. "Guess I better go."

"You don't know the way."

"Main road's just down that way," said Kellet with a jerk of his thumb. "The Flensheim road's got to be back towards Stalag 13, right? I'll find it. Can you handle this guy if he wakes up?"

"Sure." Mills dropped to the ground beside Weber. He didn't say any more, but he drew his gun and rested it on one knee.

Kellet looked at him curiously, then shouldered his rifle and set off towards the road.

He wasn't sure how he'd managed to get himself mixed up in this. When he'd first been shot down and captured, the one good thing was that he'd be able to sit out the rest of the war in relative safety. At least, so he'd thought, before the Krauts had dumped him in what turned out to be a hotbed of covert Allied activity. Even so, he'd managed to steer clear of all that, until now.

One thing, anyway, the worst must be over, now they had Weber under control. Even though they still had to get back to camp - and that wasn't going to be easy - at least they wouldn't have to worry about being shot at.

He made his way carefully down the slope, keeping the weight off his injured leg as much as possible, although he had to admit to himself, it wasn't nearly as bad as he had been making out. He was half-sorry now that he'd given Carter such a hard time over it, especially since it had turned out the explosion hadn't been Carter's fault after all.

The road came into sight, and he turned to the right, keeping within the cover of the trees. It meant nobody could see him coming, but neither could he see what was going on until he was practically there. As a result, he came within a few feet of landing right in the middle of it.

He came to an abrupt halt at the sound of voices, very close by. He recognized Carter's, sharp and angry, speaking German. The other voice was unfamiliar. Kellet vacillated, considered retreating, then crept forward a few steps.

One look was enough to tell him the shit had well and truly hit the fan. He backed away, then turned to make a quick escape. But he got no further than five steps before he was tackled, swiftly and silently. His startled cry was silenced by a hand clamped across his mouth, and his assailant pinned him to the ground before he could move. He jerked, twisted and managed to turn his head just enough to see who had him. It was almost the last person he would have expected to see right now.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Kinch whispered, releasing him.

"Getting the hell out, as fast as I can," Kellet hissed back. "You seen what's going on down there?"

"Seen and heard. We gotta stop 'em, or Newkirk's dead."

"Hey, count me out, pal," growled Kellet. "I didn't ask to be dragged out here, I'm not about to..."

"Kellet, for once in your life - " Kinch broke off, controlling himself with an effort. "Look, I'm stymied, there's nothing I can do, but you're in _Luftwaffe_ uniform. You look just like one of our own guards. The Krauts have already accepted Newkirk's an escaped prisoner, they just can't be bothered taking him back to camp. All you gotta do is march down there, say you're from Stalag 13 and take him off their hands. Any idiot can do it." Then as Kellet didn't answer, he gritted his teeth and added, "Please, Kellet. I'm begging you, don't let them kill him."

For a moment he was afraid it wasn't enough. Then Kellet straightened up, muttered something about Kinch's ancestry which was best ignored, and strode down towards the meeting place.

He emerged from the trees and stopped in his tracks, as two of the SS men turned towards him, the third keeping his eyes and gun pointed at Newkirk. Kellet blanched, almost panicked, then snapped into a Nazi salute, with an overly loud "_Heil Hitler_!"

Faulmann returned the salute. "Who are you?" he demanded curtly.

Kellet, with an effort, mustered his wits, and tried to frame an answer in German. He was surprised at how easily it came. Obviously he'd picked some up without realizing it. He also managed to remember somehow what rank he was meant to be. "Sergeant Schmidt, Luftstalag 13," he barked. "Uh...this man is one of our prisoners. We...we...he absconded from..."

"From the work detail on the road," Faulmann interrupted. "He already admitted so much. You should be more vigilant. He has interrupted a critical Gestapo operation."

"_Jawohl, mein Herr,_" Kellet replied. "Uh...with your permission, I will take charge of him at once, and return him to the Stalag."

"Not so fast." Faulmann held up a hand, and turned to Carter. "I'm still not certain we should take the risk. It seems to me..."

"It seems to me that you just want to shoot the _Engländer_, regardless of consequences," Carter interrupted. He had himself well in hand, now that he had backup, such as it was. "With respect, sir, this is my operation. I say we take advantage of this man's arrival, and let him take the prisoner back to the Luftstalag for suitable punishment."

Unwittingly he'd adopted the manner and tone which characterized his standard German officer performance, and it had the usual effect. Faulmann resisted briefly, then his eyes fell under Carter's stern gaze. "If you insist, Captain Weber," he muttered. "But allow me to say, it is a little imprudent, having only one man guarding him."

"There are more of us, in the woods," Kellet said quickly. "And I know this man. He won't give me any trouble. You - _Engländer_ - _raus_."

He turned his rifle towards Newkirk, who had picked up his cue and was looking sullen and cowed. A sharp gesture accompanied the order, and Newkirk, with a final glance at Carter, moved slowly in the direction indicated. Faulmann's eyes followed them, but Carter, determined to arouse no suspicion, had already turned his back.

"Kellet, what are you fucking well playing at?" As soon as they were out of sight, Newkirk turned on his rescuer, furious.

"Don't start at me, buddy. Kinch told me to get you out, I got you out. But don't thank me for sticking my neck out," Kellet snapped back under his breath.

"_Kinch_ told you?" Newkirk stared at him, staggered. "Kinch is here as well?"

"No need to tell the whole of Germany, Newkirk." Kinch's voice came from behind them.

Newkirk held up his hands. "Sorry. But what's going on? Did you send Carter down there?" His voice sharpened with sudden anxiety.

"Nothing to do with me, I'm just as confused as you," Kinch replied softly. "Ask Kellet, once we've gotten Carter out of there. Don't waste time on it now."

"All right," whispered Newkirk, taking a deep breath. "How are we getting Carter out?"

Kinch shook his head helplessly. "Right now, Newkirk, I haven't got a clue."


	28. Chapter 28

"It appears your Underground contact is not going to make an appearance, Captain," said Faulmann.

Carter gave a start. He hadn't thought about what would happen once Newkirk was safe. Now it suddenly occurred to him that he was in big trouble on his own account.

"You and your men probably frightened him off," he said. It sounded like a logical conclusion. "That, or the prison guards in the woods." He moved away a little, trying to think of a way to get rid of the Gestapo without making them suspicious. The last thing they needed now, with Staller wounded and Weber somewhere about, was for the Germans to start searching the area.

Faulmann flushed at the implied reprimand. "Perhaps we should give up the operation for now," he suggested. Then, as Carter didn't reply, he went on, "I suggest we return to Gestapo headquarters, and consider our next move."

"No, we can't do that." Carter spoke quickly, before he had time to think.

"Why not?" The Gestapo man gazed at him, puzzled.

"Because - because I haven't completed my mission yet," said Carter, grasping for an excuse.

"I was told your mission was to infiltrate and bring down the Underground cell at Düsseldorf," said Faulmann. "You have achieved that. Of course, the opportunity to track down the leader of the Hammelburg organization was a stroke of luck. It would have inflicted a great deal of damage on our enemies, but it seems we have lost our chance."

"Maybe not," Carter replied, seeing a way out and jumping at it. "I might be able to contact them again and set up another meeting."

Faulmann considered the idea, frowning, then shook his head. "I cannot agree with you, Captain. It would be far too dangerous for - "

"Everything we do in this business is dangerous," Carter broke in. "I don't know if it slipped your notice, but we're at war. I know what I'm doing."

"But..."

"It's not up for discussion." Carter had now slipped completely into senior officer mode. It seemed to him that Faulmann was nervous of offending him, which probably meant that Weber's actual rank was considerably higher than a mere captain of the _Luftwaffe_. That was something he could take advantage of. "You will return to headquarters and await further instructions."

"Very well, Captain," mumbled Faulmann. "But at least will you agree to meet me here again in twenty-four hours? Colonel Eisner is most anxious..."

"Fine." Once again Carter interrupted. He just wanted the guy to go, and by accident he had stumbled onto the right tone and manner. Faulmann hesitated only a moment longer.

"Until then," he said brusquely. "_Heil Hitler_." He saluted, turned and headed for the Flensheim turnoff, with his escort of SS men.

Carter didn't even return the salute. He was tired, aching and sick to death of the whole business. He watched Faulmann's departure, then retreated to the cover of the trees. He didn't know where Newkirk and Kellet had gone, and right now he didn't care. To be mistaken for Weber, or Lewis, or whoever he really was, after what that guy had done, made him feel sick. He needed to get a grip on himself before he rejoined his comrades.

Kinch, watching from his own sheltered position, felt such an ache in his heart that he instinctively rubbed his chest, as he saw the slump in Carter's shoulders and the stumble in his footsteps. He would have given anything to be able to keep the others away, and give his buddy all the time he needed to pull himself together. But he knew it couldn't be done. The best he could do was divert the other two for a couple of minutes.

"Newkirk, go after those SS creeps, make sure they don't double back," he said. "Then get straight back here. We have to find out what happened to Weber, then get back where we're supposed to be."

"Weber's taken care of," Kellet put in. "Mills is watching him."

"Mills is out here, too?" Newkirk cast up his eyes. "What is this, a family picnic?"

"Newkirk, just get going." Kinch was allowing no distractions. "Kellet, you wait here." He watched Newkirk slip away, then rose and made his own silent way through the woods.

As soon as he spotted Carter, he stopped. Then without a sound, he moved back out of sight. He waited a few seconds before advancing again, this time intentionally making enough noise to warn Carter of his approach. By the time he got there, Carter had himself under control. He'd also drawn his gun.

"Easy, Andrew," said Kinch quickly. "It's only me."

"Kinch?" Carter's voice sounded husky, with a slight catch in it. "What the heck are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," replied Kinch. "But we better let that wait. Right now we gotta get you guys back to camp, before you're missed. You look all in. Guess you weren't quite ready for a cross-country hike yet, right?"

"Yeah, I guess not," mumbled Carter. "Kinch, we got some problems. Weber..."

"It's okay, Kellet just told us. Mills has him under guard."

"Uh...okay..." Carter's tension eased visibly, but he looked so tired that Kinch wasn't sure he'd make it back to camp.

"Come on," he said, "let's get back to the others." He nodded back towards where Kellet was waiting, and after a moment Carter straightened up, and followed him.

Newkirk arrived back just after them. "All clear," he said. "I don't think our chum was very happy, he kept looking back, but he got in his car and they headed off towards town. You really put one over on him, Carter."

Kinch spoke quickly to cover Carter's silence. "Okay, save the reviews till the show's over. Kellet, where's Mills?"

"He's up there, just over the rise," replied Kellet, gesturing with his rifle. "And Wilson's back down there..."

"Wilson?" Kinch broke in sharply. "For the love of - Who else is here? Or would it be easier to tell me who's still at Stalag 13?"

Kellet flushed. "Nobody else. Just that son of a bitch, Staller, and he's been shot. Wilson's taking care of him."

"What the hell has been going on since this morning? No, don't answer that now," Kinch held up a hand, as Kellet started to speak. "We better get everyone in the same place, then we can work out how to get you guys back to camp. Carter, you come with me. Newkirk, you and Kellet go fetch Mills and Weber."

"Kinch - " As the little group split up, Newkirk lingered for a private word. "Carter looks as sick as a dog, and Mills wasn't too good this morning. If Staller's wounded as well, it's going to be dodgy, getting them home. And then you and me still have to get back to the work detail before we're missed."

"I'm working on it," Kinch replied quietly. "Don't take too long."

He loped off down the slope. Newkirk gazed after him, then sighed, and set off to follow Kellet.

* * *

It had taken some time for Weber to come round. When his eyes finally opened, he lay still for some minutes, blinking. Then he tried to sit up.

"Keep still," said Mills. "You took a pretty hard knock, you need to take it easy."

"Nice of you," mumbled Weber indistinctly.

"Nothing like that, pal." Mills shifted a little, trying to ease the dull ache in his shoulder. "I just want to be sure you're in good shape for your trial. Assuming you get one." He checked the clip in the pistol he was holding, which was in fact Weber's own Walther P38. "Can't help thinking it'd be easier to save the trouble and expense."

There was a long silence, before Weber spoke again. "You had better let me loose," he said. "I didn't come here alone."

"No, I guess you didn't. That's not your style, is it?" Mills was still inspecting his weapon, and didn't even glance up.

An even longer pause ensued. Then Weber uttered a soft curse in German. "Carter talked."

"Not a word. And you better do likewise."

Weber's face was flushed, not with shame but with anger. "Look, my back-up team's probably looking for me right now. They're not going to be happy if they find me like this. And they're not the kind of men you want to get the wrong side of."

"Is that right?" Mills pulled back the slide on the P38, and released it. "So maybe the smart move for me is to shoot you right now, and make myself scarce." He paused, contemplating the idea. "I could do that," he finished up, deadpan.

He meant it. Weber didn't dare speak again. But both of them remained tense, listening, and at the first sound Mills snapped into position, ready to fire. Then he relaxed.

"Am I glad to see you," he muttered.

Newkirk dropped to a crouch beside him, inspecting Weber, who stared at the blue RAF uniform in startled disbelief. "Our friend here been misbehaving?"

"Nothing I can't handle." Mills glanced at his prisoner. "He says he's got back-up."

"Not any more, he hasn't," said Newkirk. "But let's not get cocky about it, in case they come back. On your feet, chum." He hauled Weber upright. "Kellet, you'd better help Mills. He doesn't look too steady."

"I can manage," Mills replied shortly, as Kellet rolled his eyes, and uttered a snort of derision.

Newkirk sighed. "Nothing changes with you two, does it? It wasn't a suggestion, Kellet." And after a moment, Kellet, scowling, stomped over to give Mills a hand.

Weber was still gazing at Newkirk's uniform. "I don't understand," he muttered.

"Don't let it worry you, sunshine." Newkirk gave him a shove in the direction of home. "You'll get it, eventually."


	29. Chapter 29

"How are we going to get them home, Kinch?" said Newkirk.

Kinch tilted his head back, thinking. Then he turned to Wilson. "How bad is Staller?" he asked. "Will he make it back to camp?"

"With help," replied Wilson. "But it'll be slow. He'll probably need to rest along the way, and getting him into the tunnel is going to be tough."

"Getting our chum there down the ladder won't be much fun, either." Newkirk nodded towards Weber, who was sitting on the ground a little distance away, guarded by Kellet.

Kinch gazed at him thoughtfully, then at Mills and Carter. "What about those two?" he asked.

Wilson scowled. "Mills says he's okay, and Carter isn't saying anything."

For a moment Kinch's eyes rested on Carter. Then he straightened up. "Okay, Newkirk. One of us is going to have to go with them. And I guess it better be me." He thought for a moment longer, then added, "Either Carter or Mills can go back to the work detail with you. That way the numbers'll still be right, and it'll be one less problem to deal with. You happy with that, Wilson?"

"As long as neither of them has to do any heavy work," said Wilson. "Maybe you should send Carter. I want to get Mills back to camp and strap that shoulder before he does some serious damage."

That suited Kinch, all right. He wanted Carter away from both Staller and Weber, as fast as possible

"Kinch, wouldn't it work better if I went with Wilson?" Newkirk put in. "You know, even Schultz isn't going to think Carter is you."

Kinch shrugged. "Maybe, but it'll be easier for Colonel Hogan to convince him I was never there, than to come up with an explanation for Carter wearing your uniform."

He took off his jacket as he went to where Carter was sitting. "How's it going, Andrew?"

"Fine," said Carter, without looking up. The mask had gone up again. He looked tired, but whatever was going on inside his head, he was keeping it to himself.

"Okay. This is what we're doing," Kinch went on. "You're going back to the road crew with Newkirk. You'll have to change clothes with me, so the Krauts don't ask too many questions. I can't give you my pants, though, so hopefully they won't notice yours are the wrong color." He finished with a soft laugh, which Carter didn't echo.

"He can change his trousers with Staller's," Newkirk put in. "They're the right color, and about the right size. Pity about all the bloodstains on Staller's jacket, though. Carter'll be lost in yours."

"Yeah, well, it's the best we can do," Kinch replied. "Come on, Carter, we don't have much time."

Carter got up, with a little help from his two friends. "Maybe Mills should go with Newkirk," he said. "He isn't doing so good, and it's a long walk back to Stalag 13."

Kinch had started stripping off his shirt, keeping only the tee-shirt underneath. "No, Wilson wants to get him home for treatment. We'll take good care of him, don't worry."

The change of clothes was quickly effected. Carter's discarded uniform, too small for Kinch to wear, was bundled up and buried beneath a bush. "Okay, you two get going," said Kinch. "And be as quick as you can."

Newkirk nodded. "Take care, all right, Kinch?" Then, not waiting for a reply, he put a hand on Carter's shoulder, and led him off.

Kinch watched them out of sight, then turned. "Okay, this isn't going to be easy. Wilson, you and Kellet better take care of Staller. Is he conscious?" he added, with a glance at the major, whose eyes had closed.

Wilson leaned over him. "Major? You still with us?" Staller uttered a low groan, and blinked.

"Why should we bother taking these two back with us?" demanded Kellet truculently. "Why not just finish them right now?"

"We don't work like that," Kinch replied tersely. "Is he going to make it, Wilson?"

"He'll do. Give me a hand, Kellet," said the medic.

While they got Staller to his feet, Kinch turned to Mills. "You go out in front. Keep an eye out for Kraut patrols. I'll take charge of Weber."

"Can you manage him on your own?" asked Mills, his voice low and shaky.

"Yeah. If he gives me any trouble, I'll break his neck." Kinch's eyes, dark with resolve, fixed on the prisoner. Weber met the look with sullen anger. Outnumbered and with his hands tied, there wasn't much he could do to escape. And if he thought Kinch would hesitate to carry out his threat, that one look set him wise.

Wilson and Kellet had Staller upright now, although he needed all the support they could give him. Kinch hauled Weber up, and nodded to Mills to take the lead.

* * *

"How long have they been gone, _mon colonel_?" murmured LeBeau.

Hogan's expression didn't change, but his eyes swept across the edge of the woods bordering the road. "Too long. Kinch should have been back by now."

"What do we do if he doesn't get back?" LeBeau did not stop raking the gritty road surface. He didn't even look up.

There was a lengthy silence as Hogan thought it through. "If neither of them gets back," he said after a pause, "it probably means one or both of them have run foul of the Krauts. We might be able to cover for their absence here till we get back to camp, we've done it before, and Schultz is still worrying about those wolves, which means he's less likely to notice if we dodge around during the head count. Once we're back at Stalag 13, we can try to find out whether they've been picked up - make a few phone calls, get Carter to do his Kraut general voice and see whether he can get some answers."

"And if the Gestapo have them?"

"We figure out how to spring 'em," replied Hogan grimly. "And we prepare to shut down the operation, just in case."

He scanned the woods again. Suddenly he relaxed, at sight of a flash of blue moving through the trees. "Cancel that," he said. "Newkirk's here, at any rate. LeBeau, go and tell Schultz you think you saw another wolf hiding among the bushes on the other side of the road."

"_Oui, mon colonel_." LeBeau quickly dismissed the smile of relief from his face, and scampered off to keep Schultz's attention diverted.

Hogan glanced around to see what the other guards were up to, then gave a nod, and a small beckoning gesture. Clearly the meeting hadn't gone according to the hurried instructions he'd given Kinch, otherwise Newkirk wouldn't be here. But how far off track it had gone only became obvious when the two men emerged from cover, and mingled with the other prisoners. One look at Newkirk's companion, and Hogan tensed up again.

Keeping it casual, he strolled slowly over to Newkirk, who was already helping to fill a pothole. "What the hell happened?" he asked under his breath.

"Long story, Colonel," Newkirk muttered back, "But it turns out Weber's the bad apple in the Düsseldorf barrel."

"Yeah, I figured that out, eventually. Where is he now, and what's Carter doing out of camp?" Hogan's eyes were on Carter, who had picked up a shovel and was trying to look busy.

"From what I gather, Staller took a run out of camp, to warn Weber off," replied Newkirk. "Carter went after him - not on his own, either. Mills, Wilson and Kellet are all out there. They're taking Weber and Staller back to camp. Kinch went along to help. Staller's been shot," he added, not without satisfaction.

"Is he dead?"

"No. Pity, isn't it? It was Weber shot him, though."

Hogan was still looking at Carter. "Looks like our boy's got some explaining to do," he said.

"Go easy on him, Colonel," Newkirk put in hastily. "If he hadn't come out after Staller, I might not be here. The Gestapo turned up for the rendezvous. It was only Carter jumping in pretending to be Weber that got me out of it."

Hogan didn't reply, but moved on to speak to Carter.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah." Carter glanced at him apprehensively. "Uh...Colonel, I...I gotta tell you something. It's about Weber. He...he was..."

"I already worked it out, Carter," said Hogan. "You knew him before, didn't you?"

Carter gave a low, unhappy laugh. "Oh, yeah. I knew him, all right."

He tried to flatten out a bump in the road, unconsciously screwing up his face in pain. Hogan watched for a moment, then said, "That's enough. I'm going to tell Schultz you've pulled a muscle and you can't work any more. Then you're going to lie down in the truck, and try to get some rest."

"But, sir, I..."

"That's an order," Hogan cut in. "Newkirk told me Weber's under control for now. But we're not out of the woods yet. So you need to take it easy, and save your strength. You may need it in the next day or so."

Carter sighed, and nodded. "Yes, sir," he mumbled, and stopped work, leaning heavily on the shovel.

As he hurried over to Schultz, who was still engaged in a discussion with LeBeau on the prevalence of wolves in this part of Germany, Hogan was already piecing together the new information, and identifying which gaps needed to be filled in. He was further forward than he'd been a few hours ago, but a lot was still unclear.

When he got back to camp, he was going to have to put some serious questions to Staller, and to the man they knew as Karl Weber. If Weber refused to answer, then Hogan knew he might have to apply pressure. What he didn't yet know was how far he was prepared to go. But in light of what had emerged about Weber's identity, the risk of going too far was starting to look way too high.


	30. Chapter 30

An hour after lights-out, and Barracks 2 lay in darkness. Most of the prisoners, tired after the long day's work, were sleeping.

For the moment, the situation was under control. Kinch's party had made it back okay, and Staller and Weber were safely confined in the tunnel. The work party, too, had managed between them to befuddle the guards enough so they didn't question the substitution of Carter for Kinch, or spot the strip of gauze covering the stitches on Carter's forehead. But the crisis wasn't over yet.

Hogan came out of his quarters, where for the last hour he had been sitting alone, gradually putting together a picture of how Karl Weber had operated. No, not Weber. They had another name for him now, Lewis. Whether that was his real identity, or whether that, too, had been stolen, was yet to be worked out. For now, Hogan continued to think of him as Weber.

Right now, however, that wasn't important. What mattered was how much information Weber had managed to feed back to his handlers about the Düsseldorf network. To find that out, both Weber and Staller had to be questioned, which was something new for Hogan. Up till now the only part he'd ever taken in an interrogation was the central role.

He paused briefly on his way to the tunnel, to check on Mills. Wilson had done his best, with the limited materials on hand, to immobilize the injured shoulder, and had administered some pain suppressants, and the patient was well away. Kellet, too, was taking what he obviously considered a well-earned night's rest. If his own account of the day's outing was anything to go by, he'd single-handedly saved the day. Hogan took that with a grain of salt, but there was no doubt, when the chips were down, Kellet had come through.

Carter should have been sleeping as well, but his bunk was empty. Hogan had expected that.

He went on down to the radio room. "Any news?"

"Nothing, Colonel," replied Kinch, leaning back to stretch his spine. "Wilson's still with Staller, he says he's pretty weak from blood loss, but not in any danger."

"What about Weber?"

"We put him in the storage room off Tunnel Four, Newkirk's guarding him. Don't worry, Weber's not likely to say anything about Carter. I dropped a hint to him about what would happen to him if anyone found out what he did, and I think Mills might have said something to him, too."

"Just as well. We need him alive, at least until we can get him to tell us how much damage he's done. And after that, if possible, we need to get him back to England so they can go to work on him about the 182nd - how he managed to get assigned there, and who his contacts are." Hogan's eyes darkened slightly. "But we're going to have to question him first. Our part of it can't wait."

"Do you think we can get him to talk?"

"I don't know," admitted Hogan. "It's a first for us. I thought about calling in some outside help, maybe from our friends in Hammelburg. They've got a few people who are really good at extracting information. But..."

"Some of their methods are pretty dirty." Kinch finished the thought. They'd both witnessed the interrogation techniques occasionally employed by the Underground, and while they were less harsh than those used by the other side, it wasn't something they were keen to get mixed up in.

"Yeah." Hogan folded his arms. He was shocked at how little that aspect worried him. "Plus there's a risk he might end up spilling the beans about Carter, or that Staller will. If that's going to happen, it's better if I hear it, not the Hammelburg Underground."

He was silent for a few moments, as he considered what he was taking on. Then he took a deep breath, and without another word headed towards Tunnel Four.

He stopped at the entrance to the storage room. Weber, tied to a chair, looked up at him with brooding resentment in his eyes. With his swollen, bruised face, his collar and lapels streaked with blood, there wasn't much about him of the well-presented, pleasant young man Hogan had met two nights earlier.

"How's he behaving?" Hogan asked Newkirk, who was lounging on a second chair, watching the prisoner with deceptively lazy eyes.

"I think he's sulking," replied Newkirk. "Not a good loser, apparently."

Hogan tilted his head on one side, gazing at Weber, who glared back. His face gradually reddened at Hogan's steady scrutiny, and he was the first to look away. He was trying to hide it, but Hogan could tell he was scared. Whatever Kinch had said to him had really hit home. It would probably help, when the time came to question him, but that wasn't going to happen immediately.

Only once in his life had Hogan ever been as angry with any living person as he was right now. He couldn't trust himself to tackle Weber yet.

"Stay with him," he told Newkirk, and left the storeroom.

He found Carter loitering in the passage outside. "What are you doing here?" he said, quiet but stern.

Carter flushed, and looked at the floor. "I, uh...I just...I thought m-maybe I'd better check, in case it wasn't..." His voice died away.

"I think we can be pretty sure of who he is, Carter," replied Hogan. Carter was silent for a few seconds, then he gave a soft, bitter laugh.

"Kind of a raw deal, isn't it? I mean, first one of them turns up, then another. Who'd have seen that coming?"

"Yeah." Hogan regarded him keenly for a moment, then took his arm and drew him away from the storeroom. "You should be getting some rest," he went on.

Carter just gave a half-shrug, and a grimace.

"You got something else on your mind, Carter?" Hogan asked.

Carter didn't answer immediately. His eyebrows drew in, and he rubbed his forehead, flinching unconsciously as his fingers strayed close to his head wound. Finally he looked up. "There's something I don't get, Colonel. Why'd he shoot Staller?"

"I've been asking myself that," admitted Hogan. "Could be a case of thieves falling out. Or maybe our friend in there decided Staller was a liability."

"Staller said..." Carter broke off, hesitating.

"Go on."

"He said it was a mistake, and he didn't know. Course, I don't believe that," Carter said, his voice dropping in both volume and pitch. "He just lies about everything. It's all he ever does, is lie to people."

Hogan gave a non-committal grunt, and after a moment, Carter's eyes widened. "You don't think he's for real?"

"I'm not sure I want to call it either way yet, Carter," said Hogan slowly. "On the one hand, we know for sure he lied to us about Mason, and did some pretty fancy dodging around over Weber as well." He paused, unwilling to remind Carter of the blanket of untruth Staller must have woven to throw over what had happened at the 182nd, but it was strong in his own mind. Passing over that, he went on: "On the other hand, it would help to explain why Weber shot him."

He folded his arms, thinking it through. "I'd better start with Staller," he said at last. "You can turn in, Carter. That's an order," he added, to forestall the protest he could see hovering on Carter's lips. Even though he'd slept on and off in the back of the truck for most of the afternoon, he was still pretty worn out.

Carter shook his head. "I don't think I could sleep at all, Colonel. I just feel terrible...I mean, this is all my fault."

"How'd you figure that?" said Hogan.

"Well...well, because I...because he..." Carter's reply floundered and stalled, amidst a growing look of puzzled anxiety. Finally he started again: "If I hadn't been here..."

"If you hadn't been here," Hogan replied gravely, "we'd have accepted Staller at face value, we wouldn't have had any reason to approach Weber with caution, and by now, probably the Gestapo would have our whole operation wrapped up. It's only because you knew Staller for what he is that we've even got a fighting chance."

He put a hand on Carter's shoulder, and gave him a gentle shake. "Look, Carter, it's doing you no good hanging round down here. Go on up to the barracks, and try and get some rest. I don't want..."

"Excuse me, Colonel, can I have a word?"

The interruption came from Wilson, who had come into sight behind Carter. "Sorry, but Staller's awake, and he says he wants to talk," he went on

Hogan's lips tightened. "Okay, Wilson. I'll be right there. Carter, get going."

The medic spoke again before Carter could move. "Actually, Colonel, you might want him to stick around."

"Why?" asked Hogan, with a sudden gleam of suspicion.

Wilson sighed, and gave Carter an apologetic glance.

"Because you'll need him," he replied. "Staller's ready to talk, all right. But he says he'll only talk to Carter."


	31. Chapter 31

"You're sure you're okay with this, Carter?" said Hogan.

Carter nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

He sounded uncertain, and Hogan gave him a quick look. "If you're not, now's the time to say so."

"I can handle it," replied Carter. He spoke abruptly, the more so because he had doubts. Nobody knew better than he did how skillfully Staller could twist the truth to fit his own designs.

At least this time he would have the colonel there to back him up.

"Why d'you think he wants to talk to me?" he asked, after a pause.

"I can think of a couple of reasons," said Hogan. "But the most likely is that he thinks he can get to you. It stands to reason, he's going to try to talk his way out of this. Maybe he thinks..."

He broke off, as Wilson came out of the guest quarters. "Okay, he's as fit as he's likely to get for now," the medic said. "But he's pretty weak, so take it easy on him."

"Okay, thanks, Wilson. You can take a break, I'll let you know when we've finished." Hogan smiled, but his eyes stayed serious.

"You don't think maybe it'd be better if..." Wilson began, then at the look Hogan gave him, he capitulated. "I'll be with Kinch, if you need me."

He headed off down the tunnel, turning his head a couple of times as if debating whether to query the order.

"He knows something's going on," said Carter quietly.

"Yeah, I think you're right. But he won't ask questions," replied Hogan. "If there's one guy in the whole camp you can trust for that, it's Wilson. You ready?"

Carter breathed in deeply. "I'm ready."

Staller, flat on his back on one of the low camp beds, turned his head to look at Carter, then at Hogan.

"I said I wanted to talk to Carter," he murmured.

Hogan took up a position by the entrance, leaning casually against the wall. "Well, he's here," he remarked calmly. "So let's talk. Yeah, I know you'd rather speak to him alone. But the thing is, this is basically an interrogation, and for Carter to do that wouldn't be appropriate. In the first place, you're an officer and he's an enlisted man, and in the second place, he's the guy you tried to knock off."

He had drawn something from his pocket as he was speaking, and now he held it up for Staller to see. "You know what this is, don't you? It's the timer you used on the explosive charge you planted in the lab. Tell me something, Staller, what's the penalty these days for attempted murder? Or was it just a sabotage attempt?"

"I...Listen, I can explain..." Staller's eyes flickered towards Carter, who had edged along the wall a little way, unwilling to come closer. "It wasn't like that. I thought...I didn't think it'd be that big. Kinchloe said you had explosions down there all the time, and no damage done. So I thought, one more, just a small one, and maybe you'd see sense and stand him down before..."

"Before he got a chance to meet Karl Weber," Hogan finished up. "Because once he saw him, you were in trouble. Carter would have known straight away that he wasn't the real Karl Weber - what happened to him, by the way? We know Weber was operating in Potsdam when your friend Lewis was stationed at the 182nd. I guess the switchover happened when Weber was posted to Düsseldorf, right?"

Staller pinched his lips together. "I don't have to answer that."

"No, I guess you don't," Hogan replied, with no change in tone. "But the thing is, Staller, I'm out of patience with you. I need some answers, and I need them now. I can't afford to sit around waiting while you play your little games. You told Wilson you were ready to talk, on one condition. That condition's been met. So start talking."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I hand you over to the Underground, and you can talk to them. Only I warn you, they can play a little rough," said Hogan. "Especially with double agents."

"I'm not a double agent," Staller protested weakly. His eyes shifted from Hogan to Carter. "Okay, I'll admit it, Lewis had me fooled. I had him down as one of the best men in my department, I thought he was too valuable to lose."

"More valuable than Carter," said Hogan.

Staller sighed unconsciously. "Try to see it from my point of view. One man was compromised, but as far as I knew, he was still a sound operator. The other was a complete wreck. I felt sorry for Carter, but as far as I could tell, he was too damaged to make any further contribution to the war effort. You know how it works, Hogan. Sometimes you have to make hard decisions. That was one of the hardest." He paused, breathing deeply. "I gotta tell you, when I turned up here and the second guy I met turned out to be Carter...well, I never saw that coming, that's for sure. It was a problem, I had to fix it fast."

"So you tried to convince me he was a liability," Hogan went on. "And when that didn't work, you tried to wipe him out."

"I already explained that." Staller was sweating a little. "You're not going to believe me, but I really thought he was a risk to your operation, as well as to Lewis. And like I said, I didn't expect that much damage. It was only a small charge..."

"In an enclosed space," Carter interrupted sharply. "Where'd you think all that energy was going to go?"

Staller just shook his head, and didn't answer.

Hogan straightened up, put his hands in his pockets, and started pacing the floor. "Okay," he said at last. "Let's leave that for your court martial. Tell me about Weber."

There was a pause, before Staller replied. "If I tell you what you want to know, you'll give me a chance to talk to Carter alone?"

"Not for a second," replied Hogan grimly. He glanced at Carter. "If he's willing, I'll let you talk to him for three minutes without interference, but not alone."

Staller bit his bottom lip, and turned a questioning look on Carter. "You want him to stay?"

"I got nothing to hide from the colonel," said Carter, his voice very low.

There was a moment of silence, then Staller started talking.

"When I took over handling Weber, he'd just received notice of his transfer to Düsseldorf. It was the perfect transfer, as far as we were concerned. We'd been trying to get a foothold in that office for months. Then just before he was due to make the move, Weber got in touch, said it was getting too dangerous and he wanted out. We didn't want to lose him, so after some discussion I was dropped into Germany to meet with him on his way to Düsseldorf, and talk him round. I needed a partner for the mission, and Lewis was the logical choice. He speaks perfect German..."

"Not surprising. He probably grew up here," interjected Hogan.

"Okay, maybe I should have checked him out more thoroughly." Staller shifted slightly, and winced. "You probably think I'm the biggest chump in the army, and you're probably right. But I never doubted him. He'd been one of my best operatives. My superiors weren't too happy with it, on account of what had happened on his previous assignment."

"They knew about that?" Carter's voice shook a little.

"No, of course not," replied Staller impatiently. "If they'd known, he wouldn't have gotten a job making tea for the girls in the typing pool, and you wouldn't have been let anywhere near Stalag 13. But they knew the operation at 182 Squadron had gone badly, and that somehow the whole squadron had been completely demoralized, so there were question marks on his record. I had to argue the point, before they'd let me bring him along."

Hogan uttered a soft, skeptical grunt. "And then what? You met Weber?"

"No. We parachuted in as scheduled, we met the Underground as scheduled, they directed us to the meeting place, an old abandoned farmhouse about forty miles north of Düsseldorf. But things went wrong. There was an air raid, and the farmhouse took a direct hit."

"Wait a minute. Forty miles north of Düsseldorf - isn't that wide-open farming country?" Hogan gave a short laugh. "Not exactly a strategic target, Staller. Even allowing a big margin for error, it's pretty unlikely."

"I'm just telling it as I saw it," said Staller. "The farmhouse was blown out of existence. But we found Weber some way away. He'd taken a shrapnel hit, and bled to death before we got there."

Hogan turned to Carter. "How easy would it have been to fake it?"

"Pretty easy," replied Carter, after a moment's thought. "Plant a big enough charge under the building, with a delayed action fuse, send a couple of bombers over at the right time - if it's dark enough, nobody's going to see the insignia. The hardest part would be faking the injuries on the body, and if the Gestapo had him for a while before they killed him, well..." He trailed off, with a grimace at the thought of what the unfortunate man might have gone through before his death.

"You're saying it was a set-up?" asked Staller.

"Either that, or you're lying," said Hogan. "Jury's still out on that. Go on. Whose idea was it for Lewis to take his place?"

"It was his own idea. I didn't like it, I thought the risk of him getting caught was too high, and in any case headquarters would never go for it. But Weber was dead, we had no other way of getting inside the Luftwaffe at Düsseldorf. So I let him talk me round. He took Weber's orders and documents, and went to Düsseldorf, and I went back to London, and reported that Lewis had been killed in the bombing raid."

There was a long silence, as Hogan played the story over in his mind. Unwilling as he was, he had to allow it was just barely credible. Staller, sure of his own infallible judgment of character, would have been the perfect dupe in such an operation. Just as he had pigeonholed Carter as so damaged as to be worthless, so would he have had Lewis classified as above suspicion.

"Okay, let's give you the benefit of the doubt for a couple of minutes, " said Hogan at length. " When did you realize you'd gotten him all wrong? Before he shot you, or after?"

"I heard Carter and a couple of other guys talking," replied Staller. His voice was starting to slur a little with weariness.

"In the lab," Carter put in. "Me and Mills and Wilson. I guess we were a bit careless, Colonel."

Staller acknowledged it with a tired smile. "I couldn't believe anyone would think that. But you seemed so damned sure about it, you and Mills, so I knew there was going to be trouble, especially once Lewis arrived, and you recognized him. The only thing left for me to do was to get out there and warn him. I thought maybe he'd have some other contacts we could get in touch with, until we got it sorted out. I got out of camp all right..."

"Going for Mills with a knife on the way," Hogan interrupted.

"That was a mistake," Staller replied, flushing. "He surprised me." He paused, getting his breath back, then went on. "I don't know when it was that the whole thing suddenly made sense. All I know is, I made it to the meeting point, I was about to tell him what had happened, but when I opened my mouth, what came out was _Did you sell us out?_ And then before I could say another word, he shot me."

Another lengthy silence ensued. Hogan folded his arms across his chest, and pursed his lips. Finally he spoke. "What do you think, Carter? Plausible?"

Carter gave a derisive snort. "Boy, you think a guy's pretty smart, 'cause he's a major and he knows how to talk. But if he thinks anyone here is dumb enough to fall for a crazy line like that..."

"It's the truth," Staller broke in, cutting himself off with a gasp as he attempted to raise himself up. The effort was too much, and he dropped back, panting. Hogan moved quickly forward, leaning over the cot. It would do no good if Staller passed out on them, or worse.

Perhaps Staller misunderstood his intention. He flinched, and tried to pull away, with a sharp cry of pain as he jerked his wounded arm. Carter, still keeping his distance, suddenly felt sick. He wasn't sure why, for a couple of seconds, then a wave of dread swept over him, as a memory surfaced, as clear as a photograph: the hospital room in England, so long ago, and Staller standing over him just as Hogan was now standing over Staller.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had stumbled forward, grabbed the colonel's arm and yanked him back. Hogan swung round and stared at him, too startled to be angry.

"Carter, what the hell...?" he said after a couple of seconds of astonished silence.

The look on his face brought Carter to his senses. He let go of Hogan's arm. "S-sorry, sir," he stammered. "I-I just...I don't know what I was thinking."

Hogan continued looking at him, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Had enough?" he asked in a low voice.

Carter shook his head. His hands were trembling in the aftermath of that momentary fury. "He didn't tell us everything yet."

"I think that's all he's going to say, for now," murmured Hogan, with a glance at Staller, who looked to be slipping into unconsciousness. "And if that malarkey he just gave us turns out to be true, he may not have anything more to give us."

"You think maybe it's true?" asked Carter unsteadily.

Hogan shook his head. "I'm not calling it either way yet, Carter. Go find Wilson, tell him to get down here right away. Then I want you to go and get some rest. There's nothing more for you to do right now. He can have his little heart-to-heart with you later."

"Yes, sir. A-and I'm really sorry, sir." Carter backed away, and disappeared into the tunnel.

Staller appeared to have fainted. It could be a ploy, but as there was probably nothing to be gained by further questioning, Hogan was prepared to let it go for now. The major would answer to a military court in time, any further information about the failed operation at 182 Squadron could wait till then. Hogan's prime concern right now was with the present situation.

He stood back, regarding Staller with a slight frown, which evaporated as Wilson came bustling in. "Carter says he passed out," the medic said. "You got all you wanted?"

"No," Hogan replied, "but I think I got all I'm going to get."

Wilson grunted as he started checking Staller's vitals. "Kinch wants to talk to you," he said over his shoulder. "He's had Kurt from Hammelburg on the radio. Urgent."

"Keep me posted." Hogan left him to his work, and headed rapidly for the radio room.

Kinch was alone. "Kurt called in," he said as soon as Hogan came into view. "He wants to see you, urgently. Says he can come here tonight, if you agree."

"What's it about, Kinch?" asked Hogan, reaching for the notepad where the message had been written down.

"He's got news," replied Kinch. "We may not have to question Weber after all. Kurt didn't want to say too much over the radio. But he's got some of the Düsseldorf Underground people with him."

"Did he give you anything at all?"

"Just one thing, Colonel," said Kinch. "Hammelburg are closing down operations till further notice."

"So whatever it is," Hogan concluded, "it's bad news."

Kinch nodded. "Real bad."


	32. Chapter 32

In the early hours of the morning, LeBeau crept out through the emergency tunnel, and returned half an hour later with Kurt from Hammelburg, and another man. In the radio room, where Hogan and Kinch were waiting, Kurt introduced him as Dieter, one of a small number of the Düsseldorf Underground who had evaded the Gestapo net and fled to Hammelburg.

"What's the damage, Kurt?" asked Hogan, getting right to the point.

"They've taken Cecilie," replied Kurt with equal brevity. "Others as well, but she's the critical one."

"She is the contact point between our group and Hammelburg," said Dieter. "She knows everything - names, addresses, locations of supplies..."

"She knows my people," added Kurt. "And she knows about Stalag 13."

Hogan nodded. "I've done business with her. Do you know where they took her?"

"No," said Dieter. "Some of the prisoners are in the Gestapo cells at Düsseldorf, but she and two others were taken away by car. They took the Berlin road, but that doesn't mean they went to Berlin."

There was a moment of silence, while Hogan assessed the likely situation. "If they manage to break her, then we're all in deep trouble," he said at last.

"My people are preparing to leave Hammelburg, Colonel," Kurt put in. "Unless you have any ideas, it might be wise for you to consider evacuation of Stalag 13."

Hogan didn't reply. He folded his arms, frowning. Finally, he looked at Dieter. "What, if anything, do you know about a Colonel Eisner?"

"I don't know the name," replied Dieter, after a moment of thought.

Hogan looked at Kurt, who shook his head as well. "Is he important, Colonel?" he asked.

"He may be," replied Hogan. "For the last month or so we've been intercepting covert reports being sent to Eisner from someone within the Underground at Düsseldorf."

"A traitor?" Dieter's eyes widened, then turned hard.

"It's okay, he's been dealt with." Hogan paused, watching the man's reaction.

"Who was it?" said Dieter at last.

"Karl Weber." Hogan kept his voice level.

"Karl?" Dieter's voice dropped away in disbelief. "No, that is impossible. It must be a mistake."

"No mistake," said Hogan. "He had a meeting with one of my men yesterday, and didn't bother letting us know he'd invited the Gestapo along. Fortunately things didn't go according to plan, as far as he was concerned."

"I can't believe it," murmured Dieter. "We were told he had been working for the Allies since before the war. Our contacts in London assured us..."

"There was a substitution," Hogan cut him off. "The real Karl Weber was killed, this man took his place." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a sudden movement from LeBeau, for whom this was news as well. "Before that he was operating in England. Look, I know it's a shock to you, but Weber's out of the picture. For now, we need to focus on Eisner. He's the man Weber was reporting to."

Dieter took a deep breath, and shook his head. "The name means nothing to me, Colonel."

"Okay. How about a Gestapo creep called Faulmann?" said Hogan.

"There is a man in Hammelburg, a _Kriminalinspektor_ of that name," offered Kurt, still standing in the background. "Is he involved in this matter?"

"He may be." Hogan pushed his cap back, as he considered the likelihood. "Faulmann was in charge of Weber's support team at yesterday's meeting, and he happened to mention that Eisner was expected in Hammelburg at any time. Now, that raises a question, as far as I'm concerned."

"What's up, Colonel?" asked Kinch, leaning forward on the radio desk, trying to work out what Hogan was getting at.

"It's just this," replied Hogan. "What's Eisner actually coming to Hammelburg for? Just to meet up with Weber? Not likely. It'd make more sense for Weber to go to him in Berlin. On the other hand, if Eisner just wants to be in on the final stages of the Düsseldorf operation, he'd go to Düsseldorf, not Hammelburg. There's got to be some other reason for him to go so far out of his way."

Kurt was quick to follow his reasoning. "You think that's where they have taken Cecilie and the others? If so, they weren't taken to Gestapo headquarters. We monitor all arrivals there, and it would certainly have been reported to me. But they may have other locations we are not aware of. It would be almost impossible to find out, unless we had someone on the inside."

"And you don't?" asked Hogan.

"Unfortunately, no."

Dieter had brightened a little as he listened, but at that his shoulders dropped. "So we have no way of knowing."

"No," said Hogan, after a few moments of silence. "No way at all, as far as I can see."

Kinch glanced quickly at LeBeau. The Frenchman had seen it, too. Hogan might be able to fool most people, but his men knew him too well. They could tell he'd thought of something, but whatever it was, he didn't like it.

"Then we can do nothing," said Dieter quietly.

There was a long silence. Kinch, keeping his head down, continued to watch Hogan's face. Not a flicker of emotion passed over it.

"You've thought of something, _mon colonel_," said LeBeau, when the tension became too great to bear.

Hogan's expression tightened. "Maybe," he admitted. "Give me a minute."

He started pacing, his every move followed by four pairs of eyes. Finally he stopped.

"Dieter, you'd better stay here for now, we may need you," he said. "LeBeau, take Dieter up to the barracks, and show him where he can sleep the rest of the night, then come back down here. Kinch, you get on the radio to London, ask them to have the sub ready to make an emergency pickup at the usual place in - let's say thirty-six hours. If you can't get through immediately, keep trying. Kurt, come with me."

Leaving his men to carry out instructions, he headed off towards the storage room where their prisoner was being held. He came to a stop where the tunnel branched off.

"Kurt, at this stage it's best if Dieter doesn't know this. But you might have noticed, I never said Karl Weber was dead."

Kurt gazed at him, a glow of anger kindling in his eye. "He's here?" he said.

"He's here," replied Hogan. "Hold it." He moved quickly to block Kurt's advance. "I know how you feel, but we need him alive. That doesn't mean we can't put the fear of God into him, if we have to. Before I can make any definite plan of action, there are a few questions I need answers to. It's just possible that Weber knows where they've taken Cecilie, and that could save us a lot of trouble."

"I understand, Colonel," said Kurt after a few moments. "For now, I will go along with you. But later..."

"Later, he'll answer to a court in London," Hogan interrupted. "And when he gets there, he might be persuaded to give up the names and locations of other German agents operating in England. That's worth more than whatever payback you or I might want to dish out on him now. Remember, we're in this for the long term, Kurt."

He left it at that. Kurt, sensible and level-headed, could be trusted to follow instructions once he'd gotten over his initial fury. Hogan turned, and went on to the storage room.

"Take a break, Newkirk," he said. "Go and get some shut-eye."

Although he looked as if sleep couldn't come too soon, Newkirk still put up an objection. "I'm not completely done in yet, Colonel, if you need me..."

"I need you to be in good shape tomorrow, Newkirk. It's going to be a busy day. LeBeau's had some sleep, he can take over when we're finished here." Hogan gave him a nod, and jerked his chin towards the tunnel.

"Blimey, you'd think a man couldn't stay awake for twenty-four hours without..." Newkirk's voice faded off into the distance.

Kurt was studying Weber's bruised face. "I see your men weren't exactly gentle with him," he remarked.

"He gave Mills a little trouble," replied Hogan. "And Mills gave it right back. I'd call it self-defence."

Weber avoided meeting their eyes. He looked exhausted, and Hogan might have started to feel sorry for him, if he hadn't been aware how little pity this man had for others. He gestured to Kurt to take the seat Newkirk had vacated, and pulled up a stool for himself, so that they were sitting one each side of Weber.

"What do you want from me?" mumbled Weber, looking up without raising his head. He was speaking English, and the American accent was just as disconcerting for Hogan as it had been for Mills. The man had no business sounding as if he'd gone to school with Andy Hardy.

Still, Hogan kept his cool, and spoke lightly, as if to a casual acquaintance. "Just a little chat, Weber - that's what you're calling yourself these days, right? My friend Kurt here and I have a little problem, and you might just be able to help us out with it. And I think you'll find it's in your best interests to do just that."

"Go to hell." But Weber's eyes flickered momentarily towards Kurt.

"That's right, you haven't met Kurt, have you?" said Hogan. "Let's just say he's a colleague of Dieter's. You know Dieter, right? Or at least, you know Cecilie."

Weber didn't say a word.

"Where is she?" growled Kurt.

"You'll find out," Weber shot back. "It won't be long before you join her there. I know her, she won't hold out for long."

"Now, that's where the problem lies," observed Hogan. "Obviously we're not going to hang around and wait for that to happen. So we've got two choices. Either we rescue Cecilie and the others before the Gestapo have a chance to work them over, or we cut our losses and get the hell out of here. And if we go with option two, then there's a couple of loose ends that need to be finalized first. You're one of them."

Once again, Weber was silenced.

Kurt smiled slightly. "Colonel, it would make me very happy to be the one to take care of that task."

"You and Dieter can work it out between you," replied Hogan gravely. "I'm not anxious for any of my men to have to deal with it."

Weber stared at him. "You wouldn't..." he whispered. "You can't kill a man who's completely at your mercy. It would be..."

Hogan cut him off. "I'll admit, Weber, it's a last resort. I don't want to have you on my conscience for the next twenty years, I'd much rather ship you back to England, and let them decide what to do with you. But if we have to wind up our operation here, then my options may be limited. Perhaps if you were to help us out a little, we'd be in a better position to cut you some slack." He paused for a moment, to give Weber time to consider the offer. "Where have they taken Cecilie?"

Weber didn't answer immediately. His eyes moved back and forth, and his mouth twitched, as if he were arguing with himself. "What guarantee do I have that they won't just hang me as a traitor when I get to London?" he asked at last, in a low, hoarse voice.

"You're only a traitor if you're American," replied Hogan, tilting his head slightly. "If you're German, then you're just a spy. Which one are you, Weber?"

"German," said Weber fiercely. "My mother married an American, after my father was killed in the war - by Americans. They left me with my grandfather, until he died, then I had to go and live in the States." He spat out the last few words as if they had a sour taste.

"Well, that explains a few things," murmured Hogan. "Okay, here's how it looks, Weber. If we send you to London, I can't guarantee how things'll go for you. Maybe they'll cut you a deal. They'll be pretty anxious to find out who your contacts were while you were at the 182nd. On the other hand, if we don't, then I can tell you for sure how you'll end up." He gave Weber another few seconds. "Where's Cecilie?"

"I don't know," muttered Weber sullenly. "Faulmann's in charge of that."

That was probably true, Weber hadn't been directly involved in the arrests. Hogan changed tack. "Tell me about Eisner. He's your boss, right?"

"I report to him," admitted Weber.

"What's he like?"

Weber's eyes narrowed, as he considered what that question meant. "If you're thinking of having someone impersonate him, you're way off base," he said, an edge of contempt creeping into his voice. "Just because Faulmann hasn't met him, doesn't mean he's going to accept any guy that shows up as the real thing. Not without proof, anyway."

Hogan smiled, and stood up. "Thanks, pal," he said quietly. "You just told me everything I need to know."


	33. Chapter 33

The sun had come up at last. Hogan, leaning against the window frame in his quarters, watched as the German guards patrolled between the barracks, and waited for Carter to say something. Carter took his time about it, fidgeting restlessly as he considered what was being asked of him.

His initial response had been reflexive, and quite unequivocal. "You gotta be kidding me."

"I only wish I was," said Hogan, with a rueful smile

"But...but I can't." Carter stared back at him, like a rabbit caught in the spotlight.

Hogan sighed. "Carter, you've done this more times than I can remember, and always gotten away with it. Granted, you're not in the best shape right now, and even if you were, it wouldn't be easy for you, not this time. That's why I'm asking you, not ordering you, to do it. But if I had any doubts about whether you could pull it off, I wouldn't even be asking."

"Aw, geez, Colonel," muttered Carter.

"You know what the Gestapo are capable of," Hogan went on. "I don't want them going to work on Cecilie, for her own sake as well as ours. She knows all about the set-up here. Okay, she might hold out for a while, but sooner or later, she's probably going to talk. If we can't get her out before that happens, then our whole operation is at risk."

"I know that," Carter broke in.

Hogan didn't even miss a beat. "We could just close down and evacuate, but you know as well as I do how that's going to work. We can't have every man in camp making a run for it. Key personnel only. That means consequences for those staying behind. Even with the ones who do make a break, there's a strong possibility some of them won't make it. I can't take that chance, not without trying every other option first."

Carter looked away, blinking, the rapid changes of his expression giving away the turmoil of his feelings.

"Look, Carter, I can't force you to go along with it," said Hogan. "But the plan goes ahead, whether you're part of it or not. Even if it fails, I have to give it a shot."

"It'll never work," Carter broke out. "You'll just go and get yourself killed, and how's that going to help anyone?"

"Well, of course, there's a risk involved. But I can't just walk away, Carter. There's too much at stake." Hogan put a hand on Carter's shoulder. "I know it's a hell of a lot to ask, but having you along might just tip the balance in our favor."

He turned to look out of the window. He'd had a long battle with himself overnight, trying to find another solution to the crisis they were facing, finally having to accept that only one plan he could come up with offered the least hope of success. But that hope rested on one man's ability to shrug off his physical and mental injuries, and take on a role which would stretch him to his limits. If Carter couldn't carry it off, the prospects were grim.

Even thinking about it had felt like a betrayal, and Carter's reaction hadn't made it seem any better.

For some time there was silence. Hogan continued to watch as the morning light grew stronger outside. He didn't look at Carter, he didn't want to influence the decision any further than he had.

A subdued bustle in the outer barracks, and the sound of Schultz's voice, recalled both of them to the daily routine. "Roll call," said Hogan. "Carter, I need an answer. Whichever way this goes, we have to get moving on it."

Carter's face twisted with distress, and he shook his head, closing his eyes tightly. "Okay," he mumbled at last. "I'll do it."

"Good man." Hogan smiled, but his eyes remained shadowed. He opened the door. "Let's go."

The rest of the prisoners were already forming up. Carter slipped into his place next to Kinch, and Hogan went to the end of the front row. "We're all here, Schultz," he said.

"I don't need you to tell me that, Colonel Hogan," grumbled Schultz.

"I just thought it would save time," said Hogan innocently.

Schultz scowled and muttered under his breath, and started the roll call. He paused when he got to Carter, regarding him with vague surprise. "What happened to the other man?" he asked.

"What other man would that be, Schultz?" asked Newkirk.

"The other man who...no, never mind." Schultz pursed up his mouth, and went on to the next name.

"Hey, Schultz, where's the great war hero?" asked Hogan, once Schultz had finished.

"If you mean Kommandant Klink, he's still in bed," replied Schultz, rolling his eyes. "His back is so bad this morning, he can't even stand up."

"You mean he's on sick leave?"

Schultz snickered. "He says he will run the camp from his bedroom, rather than let Captain Gruber take charge again. Between you and me, Colonel Hogan, I don't think the Kommandant trusts Gruber."

"I can understand that," remarked Hogan thoughtfully. "There's something about Gruber that just doesn't sit right."

"It's the uniform, sir," said Newkirk. "It's a well-known fact, every man in the Luftwaffe is as crooked as the hind leg on a three-legged greyhound."

"That's true," admitted Schultz. "But it's not very nice to say it, Newkirk."

Hogan was following his own train of thought. "So, Klink's bed-ridden, huh? Well, it couldn't happen to a nicer guy." He mused on it for a moment, then went on. "If that's all, Schultz, can we fall out? We've got a really busy schedule today, we can't afford to waste time standing round."

Schultz was instantly suspicious. "What do you mean, a really busy schedule? You're up to something?"

"We're supposed to finish the road repairs, remember?" replied Hogan with a shrug. "And it'd be nice if we could finish before lunch, so as to have the afternoon free for our poetry writing class."

"Poetry writing." Schultz regarded him skeptically. "Sounds like more monkey business to me."

"Not at all, we take it very seriously. You've got no idea how hard it is." Hogan folded his arms as he warmed to the subject. "For instance, Adams has been working on an epigram on Adolf Hitler, and it's really got him stumped, trying to find something that fits the subject, scans properly and rhymes with _completely __off __his __rocker_. Of course, I'm a limerick man myself. _There __once __was __a __Führer __called __Adolf, __who..._"

"Shh, please, don't say things like that." Schultz's eyes bulged with consternation. "You want to get us all into trouble? Everyone back to the barracks. The work detail leaves in half an hour. _Zurück __in __die __Baracke, __schnell, __schnell_."

The prisoners allowed themselves to be shepherded back indoors. Hogan strolled in at the back of the pack, with a relaxed, unhurried air which evaporated as soon as they were indoors. "Johnson, watch the door. Dieter, come here."

The rest of the men gathered round the table, except for Carter, who retreated towards the stove, dodging out of the way as Dieter, who had remained inside during assembly, came to join the others.

"Carter," said Hogan, and after a momentary hesitation Carter edged around behind the other men, until he was standing right at the back. The closed-off look on his face gave Hogan a further pang of conscience. He'd seen Carter looking like that before, and knew it wasn't a good sign. But it couldn't be helped.

"Okay, this is how it's going to work," said Hogan, getting down to business. "If we're going to get Cecilie and the other two away from the Gestapo, we need to do two things. First, we have to find out where they're being held, and second, we have to get the Gestapo to hand them over to us."

"You have a plan, Colonel?" asked Dieter, gazing at him keenly. He had finally been told this morning that Weber was alive, and it had taken some fast talking to convince him that this state of affairs had to be allowed to continue. He'd calmed down eventually, but it was just as well that he didn't know how to open the tunnel entrance

"I have one, but it's going to take real co-ordination," replied Hogan. "The work detail will be the starting point. I'll need every man out there, except for Mills, who'll stay here to keep an eye on our friends down below. Don't look at me like that, Mills. You're not fit for heavy work, and I need someone here."

"Colonel, shouldn't Carter stay home as well?" put in Kinch diffidently. "He's not exactly in top condition, either."

"No, Carter has to come along," said Hogan brusquely. "The whole plan depends on him." He looked at Carter, but couldn't catch his eye.

"How's that, Colonel?" asked Newkirk.

Hogan continued to watch Carter's face as he replied. "Faulmann's the key. He's not stupid, he won't hand Cecilie over to just anyone. There's one man we can be sure can get her out of his custody, and that's his boss, Eisner, who he doesn't know personally, according to Weber. Now, I could just walk into Gestapo headquarters, claiming to be Eisner, but without documents it's almost certain I'll end up in the cells, unless..."

"Unless what?" Hogan couldn't even be sure who it was who asked. He was still looking at Carter.

"Unless there's someone already there to vouch for me. Like I said, Faulmann's not stupid, but yesterday, he made a simple error. He assumed that the man he met at the Flensheim road was Karl Weber, without checking up on him. Today they're supposed to be meeting again, and this time, Weber - that is, Carter - will go back to Hammelburg with him. So when I turn up and say I'm Eisner, someone Faulmann knows and trusts will be on hand to confirm it."


	34. Chapter 34

Once again, as on the previous day, the prisoners were at work, repairing the Hammelburg Road. The difference today was that they were actually working. Hogan had been very definite in his instructions.

"The sooner we finish the job, the sooner we get back to camp. And I want to get back sooner rather than later."

So for once his men were putting their backs into it. Schultz didn't know what to make of it, but he knew he didn't like it. He watched them in silence for some time before it got the better of him.

"Colonel Hogan, why are they working?"

"Told you, Schultz," replied Hogan. "We can't hang around out here all day, we gotta get back to camp."

"How stupid do you think I am?" Schultz growled. "You're up to monkey business."

"No, we're not," protested Hogan, looking wounded.

"Oh, please, Colonel Hogan. When are you ever not up to monkey business?" Schultz glared at him. "You had something going on yesterday, why else would you tell me you saw wolves? I checked, Colonel Hogan, there are no wolves anywhere near here, by order of Kommandant Klink."

"Well, gee, Schultz," replied Hogan, "if the Kommandant says there aren't any wolves, then I guess there aren't any."

"That's right."

"Must have been a really small bear," Hogan went on. "Glad to have that cleared up. Oh, what, now you're going to tell me the Kommandant doesn't allow bears, either?"

"I don't know," admitted Schultz grumpily. "I didn't ask him that."

Close behind them, Kinch was to all appearances completely focussed on his work, but he still managed to covertly check on the guards. He had positioned himself, with Carter and LeBeau, roughly in the middle of the worksite, which now consisted of several small knots of men spread along the road. This in turn stretched the resources of the guards, so that, at that moment, only Schultz was supervising this particular group. And Schultz's attention was elsewhere.

Kinch made a quick but thorough assessment of the situation, then gently touched Carter's shoulder, caught LeBeau's eye and jerked his head towards the woods. A few seconds later, all three of them were gone.

Without hesitation, Kinch took the lead, threading his way between the trees towards the rendezvous point at the Flensheim turnoff. Carter stayed close behind him, with LeBeau at the rear. Mindful of Carter's still-unhealed injuries, Kinch kept to an even, unhurried pace which still covered plenty of ground. Only when they were well out of earshot did he pause.

"Okay, this is pretty close to where we stashed Carter's _Luftwaffe_ uniform yesterday," he said softly. "I'll go find it, while you start getting out of that coverall. Give him a hand with it, LeBeau."

He hastened off, while Carter started stripping off his uniform, under which he was already wearing the shirt and pants required for his impersonation. He hadn't said much since the morning briefing, even when the rest of the team had joined in an unprecedented chorus of remonstrance at the plan the colonel had laid out.

Their protests had made no difference. "Carter can handle it," Hogan had replied. "As long as he's got back-up, that is." And he'd sent a look around the barracks, as if asking himself whether any of his men could be trusted to provide that back-up. After that, nobody had dared continue the argument.

Carter had stayed quiet, in the truck transporting them to the roadworks, and while he was working. Even now, he got ready for the task ahead in near silence.

"Are you sure you're okay, Carter?" asked LeBeau after a couple of minutes.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Carter replied curtly.

"You shouldn't have to do this," LeBeau growled under his breath. "You nearly got killed when the lab blew up. You should be back at camp, resting."

Carter had flinched slightly at mention of the lab. In spite of everything they now knew, he still had a vague feeling that somehow he was to blame for that. In fact, for the whole mess they were in.

"Can't be helped," he mumbled. Then, after a few seconds, "If it doesn't work out, Louis..." He trailed off, unsure what it was he wanted to say.

"It will work out," LeBeau replied, his eyes flashing.

"Yeah. Of course it will."

Nothing more was said before Kinch returned, carrying the rest of the uniform which had been left the day before. "Not even damp," he said. "Help him into the jacket, LeBeau."

Between them they got Carter into the uniform, brushing his hair forward under the peak of his cap, to disguise the cut on his forehead. "Looks just about right, hey?" remarked Kinch, in a positive tone which almost masked his own disquiet. Carter didn't respond, just straightened his lapel, a slight frown indicating that, for once, he wasn't finding it so easy to slip into character.

"LeBeau, you better go meet up with Kurt," said Kinch. "He'll be waiting with the car along the Flensheim road, about half a mile from the junction."

LeBeau nodded, and turned to Carter. "Good luck, André," he murmured, clapping him gently on the upper arm. Then he slipped off to find the Underground leader.

"Okay, Carter, this is it," murmured Kinch. "Remember, LeBeau and Kurt will follow you to Hammelburg, and they'll be waiting for you near Gestapo HQ, in case you need to make a quick escape."

"I know." Carter took a deep breath. "I'm ready, Kinch. Let's go."

The rendezvous point seemed strangely unfamiliar, considering how much had happened there only twenty-four hours earlier. Faulmann was already there, pacing back and forth in front of his staff car.

Without a word, but with a last reassuring grip on Carter's shoulder, Kinch slipped away, keeping among the trees until he was as close as possible to the car. Carter stood still for a few seconds, eyes closed tightly as he tried to steady his nerves.

_Colonel Hogan says I can do it. He's depending on me._

He couldn't let the colonel down. He straightened his shoulders, raised his head, and strode forward into the sunlight.

Faulmann greeted him with a salute, and a conciliatory manner. "I am glad to see you, Captain," he said. "We had some concerns for your safety, as several of your Düsseldorf contacts have not yet been traced."

"I have been in contact with them," Carter replied, in the abrupt tone which had so effectively suppressed the Gestapo at their previous encounter. "They don't suspect a thing."

"Were you able to renew your contact with the Hammelburg Underground?"

"Not yet. They are being very cautious."

"Perhaps because you are not known to them," suggested Faulmann diffidently. "Maybe, when Colonel Eisner arrives later today..."

"He's on his way here?" Carter snapped out, before he could stop himself. The real Eisner showing up was a complication they didn't need.

"He left Berlin early this morning." Faulmann stared at him curiously.

"Good," said Carter, making a quick recovery. "Excellent. I am very anxious to report to him." He took a few steps towards the trees where Kinch had hidden himself. "He is coming by road? Then it will take him...let me see..."

"We expect him to arrive some time between two and three o'clock," replied Faulmann. "For security reasons, he will travel by the back roads, which may delay his arrival."

"By way of Braunstadt, I suppose?"

"Schmeckhausen."

"Schmeckhausen, of course. A much better road." Carter breathed a sigh of relief. With luck, Kinch had heard them, and would pass the news to Hogan as soon as he got back to the work detail. Whether Hogan would have enough time to act on it was another matter, but at the very least he'd be forewarned.

"Captain, may I suggest we do not delay our departure?" said Faulmann, after a moment of silence. "The Underground may use this place as a regular rendezvous point. Even if they don't suspect you now, it would be undesirable for them to see you in our company."

Not a flicker of reluctance showed on Carter's face, but he pulled his gloves on a little more tightly before he replied. "Very well. I am at your disposal, Captain."

He didn't even look back as he got into the car. He knew LeBeau and Kurt would not be far behind him. It was little comfort, but at least he knew he wasn't going into this on his own.

* * *

Kurt had chosen his vehicle with an eye for the inconspicuous. An Opel Kadett, dull mid-brown in color, it did not stand out against the background of trees on the Flensheim Road. The motor was running, ready for a quick departure. LeBeau scrambled into the back seat, where his civilian clothes were already waiting for him, and began to change rapidly.

"Carter has met them," said Kurt, watching the meeting through field glasses. "They are talking - no, they are getting into the car."

"You'd better start, then," replied LeBeau in muffled tones, halfway out of his sweater. "Colonel Hogan said not to lose them before they reach Gestapo headquarters."

Kurt put the glasses aside, and set the car in motion. "I will follow them as closely as is safe. But we dare not make them suspicious."

So the Opel kept pace at a discreet distance as the staff car rolled along towards Hammelburg, occasionally hidden by a turn or dip in the road, then emerging again, a dark shadow in the sunlight.

"Not far now," murmured LeBeau, his eyes fixed on the vehicle ahead as it ascended the final hill ahead of Hammelburg, and disappeared from view.

Kurt didn't reply. The Opel was struggling to get up the slope, the engine revving furiously. Then it stalled, and he swore as he set about restarting it, with more haste than care. It took three attempts before he was able to get the car moving forward towards the top of the rise.

Then the road ahead came into sight, long, straight, hemmed in by trees, and completely empty.

"_Scheiße_!" The exclamation broke from Kurt as he braked, bringing the car to a stop with a brief skid and a jerk.

"_Mais..._" LeBeau stared, then suddenly threw the door open and leapt out onto the road. "Where did they go? Did they turn off?"

Kurt joined him, his eyes searching one side of the road, then the other. "Impossible. There are no side roads, not even a track."

"There must be," muttered LeBeau fiercely. "They cannot have disappeared into thin air."

But his heart fell, as he gazed at the dense forest on each side, and the unwavering thread of road receding into the distance. Somehow, in the few moments it had been out of his sight, the Gestapo car had simply vanished, and it had taken Carter with it.


	35. Chapter 35

In the storage room off the tunnel below Stalag 13, an uneasy silence reigned. Neither the prisoner nor the man guarding him had exchanged a single word.

Mills sat awkwardly, unconsciously trying to keep his injured shoulder in a comfortable position. He was tired, but he didn't take his eyes off Weber, until a movement in the entrance to the little chamber caught his eye.

It was Dieter, the Underground agent from Düsseldorf. He was gazing at Weber with narrowed eyes, as if trying to see what he'd missed before. Abruptly he started forward, but Mills got between them.

"No," he said, his voice strained.

Dieter stopped, but his eyes remained on his former comrade. "_Verräter_!" he hissed.

"_Du auch_," Weber growled.

Dieter took another step forward, and Mills had to push him back. "I said, no. You don't get to beat up on a man when he's tied up and can't defend himself. Not here, pal."

There was just enough of an edge to his voice to cut through Dieter's anger. His face went red, and he fell back.

"He is answerable to us," he said.

"He's answerable to a whole lot of people," Mills replied. "And he'll get what's coming, you can bet on it. But he'll get a fair trial, not a summary execution. Taking it out on him like this would be a Nazi trick. We don't operate like that."

For a moment he tensed, ready to block the punch in the face he was expecting in reply. But the German, after a few seconds, turned abruptly and left. Mills relaxed, with a slow exhalation of breath, and returned to his chair.

"I guess I ought to thank you for that," murmured Weber, regarding him with a hint of mockery in his eyes.

Mills met the look deadpan. "Don't push it," he replied softly.

Silence fell again, until once again it was interrupted, this time by Wilson.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, taking in at a glance Mills's drawn look, and the angle he was sitting at.

Mills sighed, and shifted a little. "Can't say I'll be sorry when the guys get back," he replied, his voice husky with weariness. "I'm all right, Wilson." He read dissatisfaction in the medic's eye, and added hastily, "What about Staller? Is he going to make the trip okay?"

Wilson shrugged a little. "Fever's down, and his pulse has steadied. But it's going to take a lot out of him."

"Tough."

It wasn't like Mills to speak in such harsh tones, and Wilson glanced at him curiously.

"He's been rambling a bit," he added. "Got something on his mind, apparently."

From his corner, Weber gave a soft snigger. Mills's color rose, and he pressed his lips close together, and straightened up, tightening his grip on the pistol in his hand. Then he leaned back again. The words he'd said to Dieter applied just as strongly to himself.

"I'd better get back," murmured Wilson. "Take it easy, Mills, okay?"

He gave Mills a warning look, and went back to his patient, and Mills settled himself as comfortably as he could, to wait for Hogan's return.

That return wasn't far away. The news of Eisner's impending arrival shifted the whole scheme into high gear. Hogan took a few moments to assess the risk, then gave Kinch a message to be passed on to the other prisoners. A few minutes later, he strolled up to Schultz.

"All finished, Schultz," he announced.

"What do you mean, _all finished_?" said Schultz vaguely.

"The road's all fixed," replied Hogan, with a grin. "See? As smooth as the top of the Kommandant's head. Well, nearly."

"You mean, it's done already?" Schultz pursed up his mouth, and looked up and down the road. "It doesn't look any different."

"Which just proves how good a job we did," said Hogan. "Like my father always says, when you do a job, always leave everything just as you found it."

"You know what I think?" grumbled Schultz, after a few moments of reflection. "I think you are up to something. You want me to think the work is finished, so you can go back to Stalag 13. Well, if you think I'm going to take you back before..."

"Actually, Schultz, I've been giving that some thought," Hogan interrupted. "And you know what? We don't have to go back to camp for our writing class, we could just as easily hold it in town. The guys took a vote on the way out here, and it was unanimous in favor of going to the Hofbrau and trying some of our material out on the general public. I'm pretty sure we'd go over great with some of the men from the SS division that's passing through. They all drink there, don't they?"

Schultz uttered a wordless whining noise. "Everybody into the truck. We're going back to Stalag 13, before you get us all into trouble."

He counted off the prisoners himself as they clambered aboard. "_Eins...zwei...drei...vier..._"

Number nine was Newkirk. "Hey, Schultzie, what time is it?" he asked

"It is exactly twelve o'clock," replied Schultz, consulting his watch.

"I make it eleven minutes past," Kinch put in. "Your watch must be eleven minutes slow, Schultz."

"My watch was correct this morning."

"Then it's losing time. What time have you got?" Kinch turned to the next man in line.

"Eleven minutes past twelve," was the reply.

"See, Schultz. Eleven minutes slow," said Kinch. "You better get it checked out."

Schultz gave his watch a shake. "But it's always been accurate," he grumbled.

"Well..." Newkirk began, but the guard held up a hand.

"I don't want to hear it. Into the truck." He looked down at his fingers, trying to remember where he'd been up to.

"Eleven, Schultz," said Newkirk, leaning over the edge of the tailgate.

"_Danke_," mumbled Schultz. "Next..._zwölf...dreizehn_..."

Covering for the two missing men had been easy. But the next part was going to be much harder. Under cover of the general conversation in the truck, Hogan briefed his men on the plan he'd come up with to meet the emergency.

"It sounds a bit dodgy, sir," murmured Newkirk, once he'd grasped the basics.

"Maybe, but it's all we've got," replied Hogan. "We can't risk having the real Eisner turn up ahead of time. We've got one thing in our favor. Klink's bedridden, so there won't be any roll-call this afternoon. So all I have to do is convince Schultz it's in his interest to look the other way for a few hours."

"And how are you going to do that, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

Hogan glanced towards the German sergeant, sitting beside the driver. "Easy enough, Kinch. Once I tell him he's managed to lose LeBeau and Carter out here, point out exactly how the Kommandant's going to react to the news, and offer to fix it before Klink finds out, Schultz will not only look the other way, he'll be ready to do the Hokey Pokey if it keeps the rest of the Krauts from noticing what we're doing."

* * *

"Captain Weber, I wonder if I might ask you...?"

Faulmann spoke nervously, as if already hearing in his mind the rebuff he was expecting. But he received no immediate response, and while this wasn't exactly encouraging, he pressed on. "The woman we are holding in custody - I believe you worked with her, quite closely. Very closely."

Carter flushed. This was news to him. "Well?" he replied coldly.

"We have been questioning her, but she is proving a little more stubborn than we had hoped. I have warned her of the probable consequences, but she refuses to see sense. Unfortunately the other two high-level prisoners...well, they made an ill-advised escape attempt, and both were killed." Faulmann's voice dropped slightly as he made the admission.

For a moment, Carter didn't speak. Losing a man was always painful. To lose two, under such circumstances, struck hard, even though he didn't know them personally. It cost him some effort to respond with the appropriate indifference. "That was careless of you."

"I realize that, and I know Colonel Eisner will not be pleased." Faulmann hesitated, his eyes flickering towards Carter. "But if we can meet him with the news that the woman has agreed to co-operate, without having to proceed to extremes..."

"You want me to talk to her?" Carter interrupted. "Does she know...?"

"Yes. During the initial interrogation, I told her of the part you played in the investigation. I thought it might help to break her will, but she is stronger than I anticipated."

Carter was thinking fast. His first impulse was to refuse. To confront Cecilie now with no warning was to invite exposure as an imposter. Most likely she would give the game away by accident, out of sheer confusion. Even if that didn't happen, she would probably suspect some kind of Gestapo trick. She had never seen him before, and she'd have no reason to think he was one of the good guys.

But on the other hand, if only he could give her a hint, let her know there was at least a chance of rescue, she'd be ready for whatever happened. And it would give her hope, in this hopeless situation. He couldn't deny her that.

"Very well," he said at last. "But you must let me speak to her alone. She won't talk if any of you are present. You have the cell bugged, of course?"

"Not yet," admitted Faulmann. "It has not been necessary, until now. The place where we are keeping her was not built for the purpose of holding prisoners, so it lacks some of the usual facilities."

"Then you will have to trust me," said Carter in an indifferent tone, masking his relief. He still meant to check for hidden microphones before he gave anything away, but from the man's embarrassment, it seemed probable he was telling the truth.

Faulmann leaned forward to speak to the driver. "Location B," he said curtly.

Carter sent a quick glance at the rear-view mirror, but couldn't tell whether they were being tailed. However, the driver was also keeping his eyes open. "There is a car following us," he said.

"Too close?" Faulmann turned to look out of the rear window.

"I think not, _Herr Kriminalinspektor_. Probably just a local, on his way to Hammelburg. In any case, we are well ahead of him. We will be able to turn off without being observed."

_Turn off...?_ Carter's stomach began to knot up. If his back-up guys lost track if him, he could find himself in a lot of trouble when the real Eisner showed up. He tried to remember if there were any side roads along here, but it was so rare for him to come to Hammelburg in daylight that all he could remember was darkness and dense woods on either side.

He had to swallow hard before he could speak, and even then his voice sounded tight in his own ears. "So, this is some kind of secret prison, Faulmann?"

"A former chemical research facility. The project was relocated some time ago, because of the high rate of sabotage in this area. The accommodation suits our purposes, however - close to town, well-hidden from sight, and perfectly secure." Faulmann's expression fell into the familiar Gestapo smirk. "I think you will be impressed, Captain."

_Oh, boy,_ thought Carter. It was sounding worse every second. He gazed out at the trees crowding the roadside, so thickly interwoven with ivy as to seem almost impenetrable. It was unimaginable that any kind of side road could force its way through.

The car topped the final rise on the road, and began the long straight descent towards town. Deliberately, the driver accelerated, then slowed abruptly, flashing the headlights. Carter held his breath, as the vehicle swung across the road towards the trees. Then he let it go again in a startled gasp, as the barrier in front rolled aside, trees, ivy and all, exposing a gap just wide enough for the car to pass through. He was just able to glimpse the two SS men waiting to close the gate again, before the car had moved on, bumping along a rough but serviceable track through the trees.

"I see you were taken by surprise," observed Faulmann complacently. "We have been using this place for the last six months, and our enemies have not the slightest idea of its existence."

"Very impressive," murmured Carter, not knowing what else to say. He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but his mind was racing back and forth. There was not the slightest chance his friends would have seen the disguised gateway before it closed, they were too far behind. For all anyone would know, he would have vanished from the face of the earth.

"Is Colonel Eisner supposed to meet us here?" he asked, forcing his voice to stay steady.

"I had thought, perhaps I could arrange for him to be brought here," Faulmann replied. "He may even want to handle this interrogation himself. She is an attractive woman, and he is entitled to claim that prerogative."

Something in his tone made Carter immediately uncomfortable. "What do you mean?" he asked, after a few seconds.

Faulmann glanced at him, and laughed softly. "Oh, come now, Captain. Surely a man in your position can't be as innocent as that."

_...not as innocent as you look. _The words, spoken so long ago, suddenly echoed through Carter's mind, as clearly as if they'd been spoken aloud. A wave of sickness washed over him, disgust mixed with sheer terror, momentarily paralyzing his entire consciousness. He fought it down, desperately, knowing if he dropped the ball now there was nobody here to pick it up for him.

"I don't think that will be necessary," he said, his voice unusually hard. "In any case, it would be better to bring her to Gestapo headquarters in town, than to make Colonel Eisner come all the way out here."

He could tell Faulmann had sensed his revulsion, by the way the Gestapo changed tack. "We shall see. Perhaps, if you can convince her to co-operate...There, you can see it now, Captain. And I assure you, it is just as secure as it looks."

A building had come into sight between the trees, a long, low concrete structure with no visible windows, like a bunker. Carter's heart dropped even further. It looked like the kind of place nobody ever came out of alive.

_Louis won't let me down_. The thought came unexpectedly, a gleam of light in the darkness. Even if LeBeau had no idea where he was, he wouldn't give up, and neither would Hogan. If they had to, they'd break him and Cecilie out of this place. But getting them out of Gestapo headquarters in Hammelburg, as Hogan had planned, would be less complicated, and a lot less dangerous.

He was going to have to make sure he and Cecilie were there, when the rescue team arrived. To do that, he had to manage something seemingly beyond his abilities. He would have to find a way to convince Cecilie he was on her side, and get her to feign compliance. And he had to do it right under the eyes of the Gestapo.


	36. Chapter 36

It wasn't like any Gestapo prison Carter had seen before, and he'd seen a few, one way or another. The long, white corridor along which Faulmann was leading him looked clinical, and still had the distinctive electrical smell of a laboratory.

_Shame __we __didn't __know __about __it __before_, he thought, mentally calculating exactly how much TNT he would have needed to invalidate whatever research project had been going on here. Then, at the memory of what had happened in the lab a few nights ago, a cold tingling raced through his nerves. It would be a long time before he trusted himself with explosives again.

He guessed from a distance which room they were holding Cecilie in. Two SS men were standing guard outside the door, armed with semiautomatic rifles. The door looked sturdy and unbreakable, and had been fitted with a padlock. That was a lucky break. No keyhole meant less chance of eavesdropping from outside.

Faulmann nodded to one of the guards. "Open the door." Then he turned to Carter. "For security reasons, I must ask you to leave your pistol with me. We don't want to run any risk of her getting hold of it, and committing suicide."

Reluctantly, Carter drew his gun, and handed it over.

"I'm afraid I can't give you much time, Captain," Faulmann added. "Ten minutes, that is all. If she still refuses to co-operate, then she must face the consequences." He smiled, and went inside.

The room was small and windowless. It must have been used for storage by the previous tenants, judging by the horizontal marks left on the walls, suggesting that shelving had been hastily removed. By the light of a single globe, protected by wire mesh, Carter took in the details. There wasn't much, just a narrow cot, without so much as a single blanket, and a metal bucket in the corner.

The occupant, a woman of medium height and slender build, stood up quickly, stubborn resistance evident in both expression and stance.

"Good afternoon, madame," said Faulmann, with a smug courtesy that made Carter, normally the least aggressive of men, long for the opportunity to punch the guy out. "I trust you slept well?"

Cecilie didn't reply, but it seemed unlikely.

"You know Captain Weber, of course," Faulmann continued, gesturing towards Carter. "As you seem to have doubts about the benefits of compliance on your part, he has come to see what he can do to win you over. If he is unable to do so, we have other methods of persuasion. However, you may not find them particularly enjoyable. I advise you to listen to the captain, and take a sensible view of the matter. Ten minutes, Captain."

He bowed slightly, and left the room.

Cecilie glared at her visitor, the fire of hatred in her eyes. "Whatever kind of trick this is..." she began, in a low, husky voice. But she broke off, as Carter held up a hand, putting a finger to his lips.

She watched in silence as he gazed around the room, trying to work out where the Gestapo might have hidden a microphone. He checked all around the door frame, peered from all angles at the grille covering the light, then waved her to one side, and cautiously lifted the cot to check underneath. He even looked all around the bucket, unconsciously wrinkling his nose at the theft of dignity it represented.

"Okay," he said softly. "I think it's safe to talk."

Cecilie just looked at him, her lips pinched close together. For the first time, he noticed the discoloration under her left eye, and the awkward position of one of her hands, which she kept close against her chest as if it was too painful to move. "Did they hurt you?" he blurted out in English, before he could stop himself.

"What is that to you?" She spoke as quietly as he had, but there was no let-up in hostility. "You are wasting your time. I always thought you people were stupid, but this...!"

"Look, I'm not who you think..."

"I know you're not Karl Weber."

"No. No, I'm not him." Carter hesitated. He hadn't been authorized to tell her who he really was, but only because nobody had foreseen the necessity. He had to make the decision himself. "I'm one of Papa Bear's men," he said at last.

Her eyes widened for a second, then contracted. "You're lying."

"Am not," protested Carter, incensed. Then he shut his mouth firmly. Of course she wouldn't believe him, he'd expected that. He would have to convince her.

He started to search his memory for an operation where they'd been in contact with Düsseldorf. "Do you remember Gunther and Franz?" he asked suddenly. "They were part of your operation, right?"

That had her attention. He hastened to add some more details. "They were picked up by the Gestapo, along with one of our guys. It was North Star that turned them in - Myra, that was her name. And we got them out, and sent them to England. The Underground in Hammelburg organized it. You ought to remember that."*

There was doubt in her eyes. "All right," she said, after a long pause. "If you really are who you say, then tell me, where is your operational base, and who is Papa Bear?"

"I can't tell you that," he stammered.

"Why not? Don't you know?"

"Of course I know. But..." He broke off, torn with uncertainty. For all he knew, she could be a Gestapo plant. Faulmann might have gotten wise to him, and set this up. The real Cecilie might already be dead.

They stared at each other, the silence of mutual suspicion lying heavily over them. Someone had to give way. Inevitably, it was Carter. He took a deep breath, clenched his hands to stop them from shaking, and spoke. "Luftstalag 13, outside Hammelburg. But I'm not telling you who Papa Bear is."

"Colonel Hogan," she replied quickly, almost under her breath. "I know him, we worked together on a mission once. Is he...?"

"He's coming for us," said Carter, trying to keep his voice steady. It had been a big gamble, but it had paid off, and now they both knew where they stood. "But he's expecting to find us at Gestapo HQ, not way out here. We gotta get these guys to take us into town."

"How?" She had relaxed slightly, and sat down on the cot, with a slight gasp, and a tensing of the shoulders.

"We have to fool 'em." Carter sat next to her, grimacing unconsciously at his own physical pain. "Faulmann said he'd bring you to his headquarters, if you were ready to talk. So..."

"I will tell them nothing," she interrupted.

"Well, I should hope not," he replied, flushing. "Cause if I thought you would...well, I'd have to make sure you didn't. But if we pretended that you were going to squeal, it might work out."

"_Ja_...we could do that..." She bit her lip, as she thought about. "Does he really believe you are Karl?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Is it true, what he said? That Karl..."

"I'm afraid so, ma'am." Carter turned his face away a little, speaking curtly to cover his discomfort. If she really liked the guy, if they'd gotten real close, that was something he didn't want to know about. Even though she couldn't know what Weber had done, it had to count as a mark against her in his mind.

"Where is he now?" The words were almost whispered. Carter glanced at her, then jerked to his feet.

"He's where he can't make trouble," he said. "Forget about him for now. We got other things to worry about. Are you gonna go along with it?"

She thought for a few moments, then nodded. "Very well."

Carter straightened up, went to the door and rapped sharply. After a few seconds, it opened, and Faulmann appeared, his eyes bright with eager curiosity. He waited till they were in the corridor before he spoke. "Well?"

"We've come to an agreement," said Carter, slipping back into character. "She will give us her full co-operation, if we arrange protection from her Underground colleagues afterwards. Of course, Colonel Eisner will have to authorize the deal, but if the information she gives us is good, I can't see any reason why he would refuse."

Faulmann gazed at him with a slight, doubtful frown. "So, she has not yet given you anything?"

"No. She says she'll only deal with Eisner. I don't think she trusts either of us." Carter allowed the faintest hint of disapproval to enter his voice. "You were a little rough on her."

"Well, at least we have something," murmured Faulmann. "But I'm not sure it is enough to warrant transferring her to headquarters."

Carter's eyes turned steely. No way was he going to let Faulmann pull that one on him. "All right, Faulmann. But you'll be the one explaining to the colonel why he had to come all the way out here, when he could have saved time and trouble by picking her up in Hammelburg. And I can tell you now, there's nothing he hates more than wasting time."

It seemed for a moment as if Faulmann was going to answer in kind, and Carter tensed, preparing for a battle of wills he wasn't sure he could win. But the dominant position he'd established at their first meeting held good. "You are right, Captain," said Faulmann, only slightly resentful. "It would be better to hand her over to Eisner at headquarters." He turned to one of the guards. "Bring her to the car. In handcuffs, to be safe."

A short time later, the staff car emerged from the concealed gateway, and accelerated down the road towards Hammelburg.

"There! I have them in sight." Kurt lowered the field glasses with which he had been observing the road. The Opel had been drawn up some distance along the way to town, the hood raised to suggest engine trouble, allowing the two men to keep watch for any sign of the Gestapo car, or of the hidden way by which it had disappeared.

"_Dieu __merci_!" muttered LeBeau, squinting at the approaching vehicle. "Is Carter there?"

"Too far away to tell. We'll have to wait till they get closer. But if not, at least now we know where they left the road. We can surely find the place." Kurt dropped the glasses onto the passenger seat through the open window, and went to lean over the motor. By the time the staff car reached them, both men were to all appearances tinkering with the spark plugs. But LeBeau looked up as the Gestapo went by, and met Carter's eye, sharing a split second of sheer relief.

Almost as soon as the staff car had passed them, the Frenchman was ready to leap into the Opel and follow. But Kurt kept his head. "Let them get ahead a little way, LeBeau. We don't want to arouse suspicion by setting off too quickly."

"But..." LeBeau gazed after the rapidly moving staff car, as if he were about to pursue it on foot. Then he braced. "You're right, Kurt," he said. "We'll wait until it's safe."

There was a firmness in his voice, and determination written in the set of his features. His friend and comrade was relying on him to keep close in case his help was needed, but he'd be no kind of back-up if he got himself and Kurt arrested. Until Hogan arrived to take over, he would take no further chances with Carter's safety.

* * *

*How To Catch A Papa Bear


	37. Chapter 37

The work detail had only been back at Stalag 13 for half an hour, but Hogan had already briefed his men on the next phase of the operation.

"We have to make this work," he finished up. "You all know what the results will be, if the Gestapo go to work on these people, and one of them cracks. Every man in this operation is in the firing line. Carter's already gone in, and he's depending on us to get him out. I'm not planning to let him down."

"None of us are, Colonel," said Kinch, and it was obvious the other men agreed, right down to Kellet.

"I know that, Kinch." But Hogan's gravity lightened a little. "Now, this is going to be a big operation, so every one of you has to be on the ball, and obey your section leaders' orders to the letter. Is everyone clear?"

A murmur of agreement came in response, and he nodded. "Okay, get moving. I'm going to speak to Schultz about borrowing the truck, and I want everyone ready to go when I get back."

He left the barracks, and stood outside, scanning the compound until he spotted his target. Schultz had just come from the Kommandant's quarters, and with the complacent air of a man who has just given a favorable report, was heading for the sergeants' mess in search of a little sustenance. Hogan set off at once to intercept.

"Hey, Schultz!" he called, as soon as he could do so without the whole camp hearing him. "Hold up a minute."

Schultz balked, stiffening, then set off again, increasing his pace, and Hogan had to stretch his own steps to catch up. But before he could say a word, Schultz hurried into speech: "Please, don't talk to me, Colonel Hogan. Every time you talk to me, it's something I don't want to hear. So whatever it is, leave me out of it."

"I only wish I could, Schultz," replied Hogan plaintively. "You don't think I like having to squeal on my men, do you? But as the senior POW officer, I have to do my duty. And as the sergeant of the guard, you have to do yours, too. Right?"

"Wrong. I did my duty when I reported to the Kommandant that all the prisoners on the work detail are back in camp," said Schultz.

Hogan's face twisted in distress. "Oh, if only that were true!" he burst out, his voice breaking. "I don't know how to tell you - I don't know how we're going to tell the Kommandant - please, Schultz, whatever Klink does to you, promise you'll put in a good word for them."

"W-what...w-why...w-what...?" Schultz's eyes boggled, and his mouth fell open, but no coherent sentence came forth.

"They were desperate, Schultz. You know how it is, a man can only be locked up for so long before the urge to escape becomes irresistible. And we were out there, in the open, no barbed wire, no dogs, no anything. They couldn't help themselves."

"W-what...w-who...?"

"I blame myself," Hogan went on. "I should have noticed they were missing when you did the final head count. Of course, you didn't notice either, so I guess Klink'll blame you. It's Carter and LeBeau. They made a break for it, while you weren't looking. The others just told me."

"_Donnerwetter_!" Schultz's shoulders sagged, as he came to grips with the news. "Oh, Klink will be furious. I only just told him all the prisoners were accounted for. And he is in such a terrible mood, with the pain in his back."

"Oh, boy. He's gonna flip when he finds out," said Hogan. "And when they get caught and brought back, he'll throw the book at 'em. If only I could think of a way out of it." He gazed at the sky, as if seeking help from above.

For ten seconds, the two men shared the silence of despair.

"Colonel Hogan," murmured Schultz, "have you thought of anything yet?

Hogan pursed up his mouth. "If we could track them down, and bring them back before anyone finds out they're gone...but we can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Well, because you're a prison guard, and I'm a prisoner, Schultz."

Schultz looked around, then beckoned Hogan to follow him behind the recreation hall. Once he was sure they couldn't be heard, he made a suggestion. "We could sneak out. I could say I have to drive to town for something, and you could be hiding in the back of the truck."

"I got a better idea, Schultz," said Hogan. "You stay here and cover for me, and I'll take the truck and go look for them."

"I can't let you do that." Schultz's voice dropped in horror.

"Come on, Schultz. You don't want Klink to find out his perfect no-escape record was busted on your watch, right? I give you my word, as an officer and a gentleman, we'll come right back."

"Well, in that case...what do you mean, _we_?"

"Me and a couple of the other guys," said Hogan. "You don't think I'm going to tackle those two on my own, do you? A fella could get hurt that way. Oh, come on, Schultz. Do you want me to get Carter and LeBeau back? Or would you rather go and check on your stock of winter underwear? Just trust me, it'll be okay."

Schultz grumbled under his breath. "How are you going to get out of the gate?" he asked.

"Oh, I'll manage, somehow. Look, you go to the motor pool, and make sure the truck's ready to go," Hogan went on. "I'll get my men and meet you there. Okay?"

Without waiting, he turned and headed back to the barracks. Schultz stared after him, then sighed, and set off for the motor pool, prepared to look the other way as hard as he could.

He had to work at it, when a few minutes later Hogan joined him, accompanied by Newkirk, Kellet and Adams. "Colonel Hogan...!" he began in shocked tones, at sight of the German uniforms they were wearing. He stopped himself, averted his gaze, and saw nothing.

"Don't wait up," said Hogan, as he got into the cabin of the truck. Newkirk took the wheel, and the others clambered into the back.

Schultz didn't answer, nor did he allow himself to look again, as the truck rumbled towards the main gate.

Getting Schultz to let them have the truck was only the first part of the plan, and German uniform wouldn't automatically get them out the gate. But Hogan's team had put the brief period since their return to good use. As the guard at the gate came forward to query their departure, Newkirk, with a bored expression, held out a sheet of paper. "Authorization from the Kommandant," he growled. "We are to pick up supplies from the quartermaster in Hammelburg."

The sentry barely glanced at the orders, recognizing on sight Klink's distinctive, ill-formed scrawl. He gestured to his partner to open the gate, and the truck rolled out onto the road.

"Newkirk, it's starting to scare me, how well you copy Klink's handwriting," said Hogan. "Makes me wonder what other uses you're putting that talent to."

Newkirk chuckled, but didn't answer, and in spite of the moment of flippancy the mood remained sober.

Once out of sight of the gate, he pulled over to the side of the road. They didn't have to wait long, it was only a few minutes before they were joined by another small detachment, these men uniformed as SS. As soon as they were all on board, Newkirk set the truck going again. But they weren't going to Hammelburg. Only a short distance from camp, the truck turned onto a side road to the north, signposted "Schmeckhausen".

They saw no other vehicles on their way, and nobody said much.

"I wish you'd let me come to Hammelburg with you, Colonel," said Newkirk, after about ten minutes.

"I wish I could have you there," Hogan replied. "But Faulmann's seen both you and Kellet already, and we can't risk having him see you again, and start putting the pieces together. Besides which, babysitting Eisner may not be the most exciting job, but it's necessary, and I need someone I can trust to take charge of that."

Newkirk flushed slightly, and a tiny smile flitted across his face.

"What if we've missed them?" he asked, after a pause.

Hogan's brow tightened. "If we have," he said softly, "then we wait, and we hope to God they come back this way, and bring Carter with them. And if we have to, we start shooting."

"Well, at least we've got a plan," muttered Newkirk. "It'll be a great comfort to my mum when she hears about it."

Hogan glanced at him. "You're starting to sound like Kellet...There's the bridge."

The road ahead narrowed, crossing a shallow river by way of a rough timber-built bridge, scarcely wide enough for the truck to pass over. Newkirk slowed, and every man on board held his breath, as the structure groaned beneath the wheels. But it held up, and the truck safely reached the other side.

"Just here," said Hogan. "Let us out, then turn the truck and park it so it blocks the bridge."

He marshalled his troops while Newkirk manoeuvred the truck into position. "Adams, Kellet, you'll be on this side of the bridge with me and Newkirk. Hammond and O'Brien, go and check the barn, make sure it's secure enough. The rest of you get out of sight, and wait for my signal."

The men took up their posts, and prepared to wait.

An hour passed, but no traffic came from either direction. Newkirk and Adams started a game of "I spy", which gradually descended into a debate over whether Adams' _something beginning with O_ was actually an oak tree, or a beech with an identity crisis. Kellet, slouched against the radiator grille, hummed tunelessly under his breath.

Hogan had started pacing, his impatience keeping pace with his rising anxiety. If Eisner had taken the other road, he could be in Hammelburg by now. Carter might have already been exposed as a phoney. At this moment, he might be in an interrogation room, being treated to the Gestapo's special brand of hospitality.

"Hello, here we go." Newkirk's voice broke in on his thoughts, and he looked up. A dark speck had appeared on the road, gradually resolving, as it approached, into the kind of oversized black staff car favored by the security service. Hogan, drawing a deep breath, straightened up and glanced at his men. In spite of the long delay, they were ready.

As the car drew close, Newkirk stepped forward, holding up his hand. "_Halt_!"

The driver wound down his window. "_Was __ist __los_?" he demanded curtly.

"The bridge is unsafe," replied Newkirk. "The supports have been sabotaged, any vehicle passing over is likely to cause a collapse. You can not continue."

From the back of the car, a husky, guttural voice broke in. "What is this? We have no time for this nonsense." The speaker leaned forward, a solidly built man in the uniform of an SS colonel. "Move your truck at once, and let us pass. I have an urgent meeting in Hammelburg."

"I'm afraid I must advise you against it, sir," said Hogan, coming up to the car. "We are waiting for engineers to inspect the bridge, but I have seen the damage myself, and your car will certainly bring it down." As he spoke, he checked out the number of men they had to deal with. Four, including Eisner.

The colonel scowled. "These _verdammte_ saboteurs! Must we go all the way back to Berlin, and come a different way?"

"I don't think that's necessary. There is an alternate route, but a little complicated. Have you a map, sir? Never mind, we have one, and I can easily show you, if you would care to step out of the car."

Eisner turned to the lieutenant sitting beside him. "Deal with it, Geering. And be quick about it."

"Your driver had better come, too," suggested Hogan, in respectful tones. "Two heads are better than one, after all."

As the lieutenant and the driver followed him back to the car, Adams and Kellet closed in, while Newkirk, with apparent indifference, paced slowly across the road until he was close to the passenger side of the car. Hogan leaned inside the cabin of the truck and found the map, which he spread out on the hood. "Here's what I suggest you do," he said. "Don't move a muscle, and don't make a sound, either of you."

The map in his left hand had hidden the pistol in his right, which was now pressed against Geering's chest, just over the heart. Kellet had the driver covered, while Adams blocked the view from the staff car.

"Now," Hogan went on, in a pleasant, conversational tone, "in a moment, you're going to call out to your chief in the car, and ask him to come here. Nice and easy, because I have a nervous trigger finger."

Geering stared at him for a few seconds, then turned his head. "Colonel Eisner," he called. "I wonder if you could come and look at this."

From his standpoint, Newkirk could see the gesture of irritation with which Eisner responded. Then he snarled at the soldier still sitting in front of him. The man leapt out of the car like a startled rabbit, and opened the door for his superior to exit. He turned out to be a big man, both in height and girth, and as he trundled past, Newkirk flinched from the combined smell of sweat and expensive cologne which hung about him. The private closed the door of the car, and turned to follow.

"I shouldn't, if I was you," murmured Newkirk, blocking his way, and the man's eyes widened, as the rest of Hogan's men emerged from the trees on either side, their weapons at the ready.

Eisner stared at them. "What is the meaning of this?" he expostulated, after a few seconds of stunned silence.

"The meaning is, you're all now prisoners of the Allies," replied Hogan brusquely. "Get their guns. Take these three up to the barn." He gestured towards Geering and the driver, and nodded at the other soldier, who was standing stock-still while Newkirk disarmed him. "And move the car and truck off the road."

"Do you know who I am?" Eisner's eyes were bulging, and his face scarlet, as he came to a sense of what was happening.

"I sure hope so, Colonel," said Hogan, coming towards him. "Because I'm about to take your place. So I'm afraid you're going to have to strip, so I can borrow your uniform." His nose wrinkled as he got closer. "And I'm wondering if I should just go ahead and shoot you, for making me wear something that smells that bad."


	38. Chapter 38

"This way, please, Captain."

The room into which Faulmann ushered his guest scarcely seemed sinister enough to be part of a Gestapo establishment. In fact, it reminded Carter of his bank manager's office, back home. The wood-paneled walls with their scattering of random pictures, the highly polished desk and elaborately molded chairs, the gracefully arranged potted ferns in brass planters, all seemed far too innocuous, given what went on in other, less accessible parts of the building.

"Is this your office?" he asked.

"No. This office is reserved for the use of high-ranking visitors such as Colonel Eisner." Faulmann glanced over his shoulder, as two of his men, none too gently, brought Cecilie in. "Leave the woman here," he ordered. Then as soon as the guards had left the room, he addressed her with elaborate courtesy: "Please, dear lady, sit down."

She didn't move. Faulmann waited for a few seconds, then gripped her upper arm with a force that drew a gasp from her, and forced her onto the nearest chair. Anything else he might have been considering, however, was forgotten, as Carter, acting by pure reflex, got between them, effectively forcing Faulmann to back off.

"There's no need for that," said Carter under his breath. "We're her friends now, right? You don't want her getting second thoughts, do you?"

"No," replied Faulmann, after a pause. "No, you are right. My apologies, madame." He bowed, but the rigidity of his expression and the cold look in his eyes showed just how much it was worth.

He beckoned Carter to one side, and spoke more quietly. "Captain, I trust that your previous intimacy with the woman is not going to soften your attitude. She is a traitor, after all. Perhaps it would be better to take her to the cells for now."

"No, leave her here," said Carter quickly. "She'll be easier to handle if we show her we can be nice, now that she's agreed to talk."

Faulmann considered this viewpoint. "Very well. She can't escape, in any case. The whole building is secure." He glanced at Cecilie, with a slight sneer. "In that case, I must leave her in your care for the time being. I have other duties to attend to, if you will excuse me." He clicked his heels together, saluted and left.

Carter let his breath go, and leaned heavily on the desk, both hands spread out to support his weight. "What the heck is wrong with you? Don't you know what these guys are like?"

Cecilie lowered her eyes. "He is an animal," she whispered.

"He sure is. But you get him all riled up, and he could hurt you, real bad, a whole lot worse than he already did." Carter broke off. After a few seconds he went on, more quietly, "Just play along, till Colonel Hogan gets here."

"How long will that be?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"I don't know." Carter straightened up, unconsciously wrapping his arms across his chest. His head wound was throbbing again, and the bruising down his side felt as if he'd just been kicked in the ribs. "See, that guy Eisner's on his way, they gotta take care of him first. But they won't let us down." His own voice sounded uncertain in his ears, and he cleared his throat. "Colonel Hogan won't let us down. He'll be here."

She looked down at her hands, the wrists still circled by handcuffs. "Why shouldn't we try to get out ourselves?" she said. Then, as Carter turned to stare at her, she went on, desperately. "The Gestapo man seems to trust you, he left us here with no guard."

Carter flushed. "That doesn't mean we can just walk out of here. Didn't you see how many goons they've got, all over the place? We wouldn't even make it to the stairs."

"We might be lucky," she persisted.

"We might get shot."

He knew what she was thinking: better dead than alive, in the Gestapo's hands. "The window?" she asked, after a few seconds of thought.

A quick look put paid to that idea. "No good," he said. "It looks out onto the street, and the guards at the main entrance would spot us right away. Anyway, we're six floors up, and nothing to hold on to."

He hesitated for a few more seconds, then went to the door, and cautiously opened it, no more than a few millimeters. But that was enough to attract the attention of the two guards standing outside, one on each side of the door. Both of them immediately came to attention. Carter stood momentarily petrified under their eyes, before he pulled himself together, and opened the door fully.

"Just checking," he said curtly. "Keep up the good work. The Führer would be proud of you."

The guards exchanged slightly puzzled glances. "_Danke, __Herr __Hauptmann_," one of them replied.

Carter retreated, closing the door. "Not a chance," he mumbled. "There's two guys right outside the door."

"Why?" Cecilie asked. She had gone pale. "Have they realized you're not Karl?"

"I don't know. Maybe." He went back to the window again. "Maybe not. They might just be extra security. He seems kind of worried in case I can't handle you, on account of you and Weber...anyway, they're there. So we better just forget it, and wait for the colonel to turn up. He'll get here, all right."

Her shoulders dropped slightly, but then she braced, and lifted her chin. "Very well. We will wait."

"Uh-huh." He knew that sounded cold, but he couldn't help it. Her relationship with Weber, whatever it had been, was a barrier he couldn't get past. "Colonel Hogan will get here," he repeated. But she didn't look as if she believed him.

He looked out again, hoping unreasonably that maybe he'd see the brown Opel car, with LeBeau and Kurt, but there was no sign. Of course, they had to stay out of sight. They knew where he was, they'd be somewhere nearby. But he'd have given anything to be sure.

Had he known it, they had ditched the Opel, in case Faulmann or his driver recognized it, and were now watching from the vantage point of an apartment in the building across the road.

LeBeau remained at the window, his eyes scanning the Gestapo building, while Kurt sat in one of the armchairs, cleaning his gun. He looked up, as a knock fell on the door, and pushed the clip back in.

Two raps, a pause, then two slower raps. Kurt gestured to LeBeau to keep quiet, then went to the door, and put his eye to the spy hole. "It's Colonel Hogan," he murmured.

As he opened the door, LeBeau turned away from the window. "They're here, _mon __colonel_. They arrived about an hour ago. Carter looked okay."

Hogan frowned slightly. "It took that long to get here?"

"They stopped on the way," said Kurt. "They have a secret base, hidden off the road."

"Maybe that's where they've been holding our friends from Düsseldorf. Faulmann must have decided to bring them into town."

"They didn't bring them," LeBeau put in. "There was a woman, we saw her when they took her inside. Cecilie, I guess. But nobody else, only Faulmann and two other Gestapo men."

"No sign of the others?" said Hogan sharply.

"No, sir."

"It would have been difficult to bring three prisoners in a staff car," remarked Kurt. "Perhaps they left the other two behind, for now."

"Yeah, maybe. But I've got a bad feeling about it." Hogan's frown deepened. "It makes things a little more complicated. As if they needed to be."

"Is something wrong, _mon __colonel_?" asked LeBeau.

Hogan gave a short laugh. "We found out Eisner was already on his way here."

LeBeau stared at him, horrified. "But if he gets here while you're in there..."

"He won't," replied Hogan. "We stopped him on the way, and talked him into lending us his staff car, and his clothes." A slight grimace crossed his face. "That means we've got an extra four men for you to deal with, Kurt - Eisner, his aide and two SS men. We've got 'em on ice, out on the Schmeckhausen Road."

"You want our people to take them, along with the two you are holding at Stalag 13?" Kurt thought it through. "It could be manageable. We have three men from Düsseldorf, plus Dieter. Add in the two men the Gestapo are holding, and that will make six. The plan is for them to dress as SS officers, _nicht_? And for the real SS men to be passed off as captured Underground members?"

"Along with Weber and Staller," Hogan confirmed. "But if we can't spring those two guys, that shifts the balance, and not in our favor."

"Staller's wounded," LeBeau reminded him.

"Yeah, and my guess is, Eisner's not going to be much good in a fight. But that still leaves three SS men, all of them in good shape, plus Weber who's something of a wild card."

"Our men can handle them," said Kurt grimly.

"Let's hope so." Hogan went to the window, and surveyed the building opposite. "Okay, we'll play it by ear. Kurt, get your men together, and meet us at the entrance to the old waterworks in an hour. LeBeau, you better go with him. I know," he went on, as LeBeau ventured a protest, "but we didn't bring an SS uniform for you, so I can't use you here. You already did your part. Now it's my turn."

LeBeau looked away, his impatience clearly written on his face. "Yes, sir," he muttered.

"Excuse me, colonel," said Kurt, "but would it not be better for someone else to go in as Eisner? You are too valuable to your own organization, and to ours, to take such risks. I am known to them, but I have other men available who could..."

"No," replied Hogan brusquely. "Carter's expecting to see me. Anyone he doesn't recognize turns up, and he's liable to get flustered and give the show away. Besides..." He broke off, his eyes on the façade opposite, with its precise rows of windows. He knew, by the sudden relaxation of LeBeau's shoulders, that the Frenchman knew what he was thinking.

_I sent him in there. It's my job to bring him out._

"They've been in there long enough," he said at last. "Let's move."


	39. Chapter 39

For some time, Carter and Cecilie hadn't exchanged so much as a glance, let alone a word.

Cecilie was probably to weary to talk. She managed to stay upright in her chair, but every so often her head would droop forward, then she would straighten with a jerk. Meanwhile Carter paced nervously around the office, unable to keep still. He had investigated the drawers of the big desk, finding nothing more menacing than a broken pencil and a stapler with no staples. The filing cabinet was locked, and he wondered briefly whether it might contain anything worth the trouble of trying to pick the lock, but just as he was going back to the desk to look for a paper clip, the door opened. Instinctively he stepped back, as one of Faulmann's men came in, carrying a tray.

"Herr Faulmann's compliments, sir," he said. "He thought you might be hungry, so he made arrangements." He placed the tray on the table, and removed the cover to reveal a plate of cold chicken, salad and a bread roll, accompanied by a glass of white wine. "There is _Schnaps_ on the cabinet there, if you prefer it."

"_Danke_. Just leave it on the desk," replied Carter curtly. He glanced at his watch. It was almost four hours since he'd met with Faulmann on the Hammelburg road. He hadn't eaten anything since early morning, but the thought of food repelled him.

"You better have something to eat," he told Cecilie.

She shook her head. "I couldn't."

Carter hesitated for a moment, then picked up the glass of wine and brought it to her. "Listen, I know things have been kind of rough the last couple of days," he mumbled. "But you gotta try to keep it together. Once the colonel gets us out of here, you've still got a long way to go."

"I don't believe he is coming," she said in a low voice.

"Well, you better start believing," replied Carter. "He's coming, all right."

Cecilie gave him a searching look, then sighed, and took the glass from him. "You trust him that much?"

"Heck, yeah." Carter started making a sandwich out of the bread and chicken. "He's never let me down yet, even when...even when things looked real bad." His eyebrows drew in, at the memories evoked. Then he gave himself a shake. Now wasn't the time to start thinking about that. "Just try and eat a little bit," he said, offering her the roll. "You don't want to get all weak and pass out on us, do you?"

It seemed as if she would refuse, but after a moment of indecision she accepted it, and took a small bite. Carter, vaguely aware of her embarrassment at being watched, turned away to get himself a glass of _Schnaps_. In general, he didn't much care for the stuff, but right now it went down pretty well.

"I trusted Karl," said Cecilie suddenly. "I would have put my life in his hands. Even now..."

"I guess you got to be pretty good friends," murmured Carter, unsure what else he could say.

She acknowledged it with a shrug, and a rueful smile. If Weber had been more than a friend to her, at least she wasn't going to say so. But Carter felt a renewed constraint on his sympathy. He refilled his glass, and went back to the window.

A staff car had pulled up in front of the main entrance. He leaned forward until his forehead was almost touching the glass, trying to get a look at the occupants, but his line of sight was obscured by one of the swastika-emblazoned banners which were suspended from the lamp-posts all along the street.

"Well, someone's here, anyway," he said.

Cecilie gave a start, inadvertently squashing the roll in her fingers. "Is it...?"

"I can't tell." The car wasn't familiar to him, and his stomach began to knot up. Without thinking, he gulped down the entire glassful, then choked, spluttered and started coughing.

"_Was ist los_?" said Cecilie, staring at him.

He leaned with one hand on the desk, holding the other up until he could speak again. "Went down the wrong way."

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Sure. Boy, it just figures I'd do something dumb right now." His throat hurt, and he coughed again, and wiped his eyes. "That stuff should come with a safety warning." He took another look out of the window, but whoever had gotten out of the car must already be inside the building. "We better get cleared up, so's we're ready to go when the colonel gets here."

The remains of the meal were hastily returned to the tray, and Carter made an attempt to smooth down his hair and straighten his uniform. Even if it was Eisner, and not Hogan, who had arrived - even if the whole ruse was about to be discovered - well, at least he'd look like a credit to the air corps when they arrested him.

"It'll be okay," he said under his breath. "I know it'll be okay."

He glanced at the door, at the sound of voices in the passage outside, then took a couple of steps to the side, so he would stand between Cecilie and whoever was about to enter. A moment later, two SS men burst through the door, and the breath left Carter's body in a single, involuntary exhalation. His eyes went past them, and he raised his head, straightened his shoulders, and saluted.

Hogan, coming in directly behind O'Brien and Hammond, gave him an anxious once-over, as he returned the salute. "Good to see you safe at last," he said.

Carter nodded, a glow of pure relief illuminating his face, although Faulmann's arrival in Hogan's wake made him hold back his own emphatic exclamation. Hogan, after that one searching gaze, had already moved on. "And this is our friend from Düsseldorf. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, madame." His eyes had narrowed slightly, at sight of the bruise on her face, but he made no comment on it. Cecilie glanced up at him, then looked away. A faint flush of pink stained her cheeks, but she didn't speak.

"She's agreed to co-operate, sir," Faulmann put in. "She'll tell us whatever we want to know, if we take care of her afterwards." Carter's lips pinched together. Trust Faulmann to make a grab for whatever credit might be going.

"I think that can be arranged," said Hogan, after a moment. "But we'll take her back to Berlin, for security reasons. What about the other two prisoners?"

Faulmann gave him a startled look. "Forgive me, sir, but have you forgotten? Or perhaps your aide didn't pass on the message."

There was the slightest hint of doubt in his eyes, and Carter hastily stepped into the breach. "I think what the colonel means is, how did you dispose of the bodies?"

Hogan caught the pass, and played on. "Exactly. You always understand me, Karl. Well, Faulmann? The usual method, I suppose."

"Yes, sir. I can assure you, there will be no consequences." Faulmann glanced uneasily at Cecilie. "But perhaps it's not something we should discuss in present company."

"Of course," replied Hogan genially. "In any case, I have no doubt you handled the matter adequately." He turned to O'Brien. "Take the woman down to my car."

"Begging your pardon, Colonel," Faulmann broke in, "must you leave at once? I thought perhaps..."

"Oh, you thought, did you?" Hogan cut him off without ceremony. "When I'm around, I do the thinking. And what I think is, this town is crawling with Underground members, who will be very anxious to silence her before she can talk. It'll be just like that business at Mainz last year. And I can tell you, I don't want to be here when that hand grenade comes flying in the window."

"Sir, we are on the sixth floor," Faulmann pointed out.

"Yes, I believe they used a home-made compressed air gun on that occasion. Remarkable, the range those things have." Hogan paused, as if pondering the matter, then abruptly turned on O'Brien. "Well, what are you waiting for? Take her down at once." Without waiting to see his orders followed, he turned to Carter. "You will come with us, of course. Your mission is now complete, and once you have been debriefed you will start preparing for your next assignment."

"Yes, sir," said Carter, snapping to attention.

"Sir, will you at least allow me to supply an escort for the journey?" Faulmann wasn't giving up without a fight.

"No, I already have an escort," said Hogan. "Captain Weber, you will accompany me in my staff car, along with the woman. My security guards will follow in the truck. You've done very well in this matter, Faulmann," he went on, before the Gestapo could renew his objections. "Very well indeed. I will certainly mention you favorably in my report. There is just one more thing, I will need a copy of your dossier on this operation. You have a duplicate copy, of course."

The smile with which Faulmann had received the compliment froze on his lips. "Uh, not yet, Colonel Eisner. As the matter is ongoing...I can arrange to have a copy sent to you by courier within the next few days."

Hogan sighed patiently. "Perhaps it would be better if I take the file with me, and have a copy made by my own office in Berlin. Please bring it down to my car at once."

"But..."

"At once." Hogan fixed a stern gaze on him. "I will be waiting. And if I am not on my way within ten minutes, I may have to reconsider the wording of my report."

Faulmann blanched. "Yes, sir." He saluted, and made a hasty exit.

As soon as the door was closed, Hogan turned to Carter. "You okay?"

"Yes, sir." Carter wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Boy, was I ever glad to see you. Not that I thought you wouldn't get here, it's just...Gee, Colonel, you sure put on a good act. You really had Faulmann going. Heck, you almost fooled me."

"Well, I studied under one of the master performers," replied Hogan, his eyes dancing as they rested on the master performer himself. "Okay, make it quick. Anything I should know?"

"They got some kind of hidden base, out of town, that's where they had her," Carter said.

"Yeah, LeBeau told me. We'll have to take care of that. What else? They worked her over already, right?"

"Yeah, but not so much. She didn't give them anything yet, so Faulmann got me to talk to her, and we fixed it up so they'd think she was ready to talk. She was pretty good friends with...uh, with Weber." Carter's voice hardened a little. "I think that's all."

Hogan regarded him keenly for a few moments. "Another ten minutes, we'll be out of here," he said abruptly. "And once we get back to camp, you're going straight on sick call. For the next couple of weeks I don't want to see you engaged on any activity more strenuous than an afternoon nap."

Carter gave a shaky laugh. "You know something, Colonel? That sounds pretty darn good."

Hogan clapped him gently on the shoulder. "Just stay on the ball till then, okay? We still have to get out of here. You ready?"

"Boy, am I ever!"

Hogan had to smile. It was a long time since he'd seen that gleam in Carter's eye. "Okay, Andrew," he said. "Let's head for home."


	40. Chapter 40

Kinch, carrying a bundle of clothes, came into the storage room where Weber was being held. He met Mills' eye, and jerked his head, and Mills got to his feet, wincing a little, and followed him out to the tunnel.

"How's he doing?" asked Kinch, in a low voice.

"Seems pretty woozy," said Mills. "I guess it's been a long couple of days for him. But I don't know, Kinch, he could be faking it. You sure you don't want me to come along? I mean, Davis is a pretty good kid, but..."

Kinch regarded him with a slight frown. "Something bugging you, Mills?"

"I'm not sure," replied Mills slowly. "I've got a bad feeling, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe I'm just getting paranoid." He finished with a soft laugh.

"Yeah, well, Weber's not the only one who's had a few bad days. You want to know something? I'm waiting for the sucker punch, too." Kinch shrugged, and smiled a little. "And I'll admit, it would have been handy to have you along, but you're not up to it. Wilson's coming along to take care of Staller, plus Dieter as well. I'm pretty sure we'll be able to handle Weber between us. You want to give me a hand getting him ready?"

He moved past Mills into the store room. "You awake, captain?"

The prisoner gave a start, and opened his eyes. "What d'you want?" he growled.

"Time for you to stretch your legs," said Kinch. "I'm just going to let you loose for a couple of minutes, but don't get any ideas." He glanced at Mills, who was standing in the doorway, pistol in hand.

"Whatever you say." Weber's eyes, burning with resentment, rested on Mills for a moment. But he remained passive as Kinch untied the rope holding him, though he was unable to suppress a hissing gasp of discomfort.

"Easy, there," murmured Kinch. "Can you stand up?"

"Is it worth my while?" Weber snapped back.

"Yeah, I think so. You want to get your circulation going, you've got a long walk ahead of you." Kinch hauled Weber to his feet, and started walking him back and forth, not too gently.

Weber submitted, too stiff from his long period of restraint to put up a fight. "You guys are something," he mumbled. "You really think you can get away with this." He glanced up at Kinch. "You won't get me within fifty miles of the coast before you get caught."

"Maybe not. But the guys who are taking you there are the same Underground people you sold out," replied Kinch. "And if they think there's any chance of you escaping, you can bet they'll make sure it doesn't happen. Feeling better?" He let go of Weber's arm, and tossed him the rolled-up clothes. "Get changed, and be quick about it."

Weber caught the bundle, but made no attempt to investigate it. "And what happens if I refuse?"

"Well, I don't recommend it," said Kinch. "I don't want to have to undress you by force, and I'm pretty sure Mills doesn't, either. But one way or another, you're wearing those clothes when you leave here. So I'll give you thirty seconds to start doing it for yourself."

It was clear he meant it, and Weber went red, and slowly started undoing his buttons. "Do you have to watch?" he asked. "Isn't a guy entitled to keep a little self-respect around here?"

"You got some nerve, Weber," said Mills, in a very low voice.

"Easy, Mills." Kinch sent him a warning look. "And as for you, Weber, forget it. You gave up that right a long time ago."

Weber kept his head down, but his eyes went from Kinch to Mills. He turned away slightly as he finished unbuttoning and took off his shirt. "Look, there's...there's something you ought to know about...well, the thing with Carter, see..."

"Don't you dare," Mills interrupted, raising the gun slightly. "Kinch, so help me..."

"Okay. Better give me the gun," said Kinch. "Weber, get on with it, and no more talking."

Whatever it was Weber had been thinking of saying, the warning was enough to make him change his mind. He finished dressing in silence, and he didn't utter a word as he was taken through the tunnel leading to the recreation hall. The rest of the party - Wilson, Dieter, the inexperienced but willing Davis, and Major Staller - were waiting for them below the trapdoor. Staller, like Weber, had been provided with civilian clothes, a little too big for him, to allow for his wounded arm. Even by lamplight, he looked pretty sick.

"Okay, Mills, you know what to do," said Kinch. "Give us five minutes to get into position, then start the diversion."

"Will do. Take care out there." Mills headed off to carry out his assigned task.

Kinch turned to the rest of his team. "Davis, you go up first, then Dieter. Weber, you'll follow. Any trouble, and Dieter will be the one dealing with it."

Weber kept his eyes averted. He knew he was outnumbered, and even if he really thought Hogan's men would hesitate to prevent his escape by whatever means were necessary, he had no such assurance in regard to Dieter. He went up the ladder without a word. Wilson followed, leaving Kinch to help Staller. And Staller, still weak and unable to use his wounded arm, needed the help, although he seemed to be making an effort to get there by his own exertion. Wilson and Davis were waiting to pull him up to floor level, where he dropped, breathless.

Dieter had just finished tying Weber's hands again. It was necessary, as he was too dangerous to be allowed any leeway. He seemed sullen but resigned, and he offered no resistance, but Kinch wasn't fooled. If the son of a bitch got a chance, he'd make a break, for sure.

"Okay, now we wait," murmured Kinch. "When we hear the dogs, that's when we move."

He paused, his eyes on Staller. There was no doubt the man was going to need a lot of help if he was going to make it to the rendezvous. He was no lightweight, either, and as Davis wasn't particularly strong, and Dieter, though wiry enough, was scarcely taller than LeBeau, he would probably be too much for either of them to manage. Kinch didn't like it, but he was going to have to look after the major. "Davis, you and Dieter take care of Weber," he said. "One sound out of him, you do whatever it takes to keep him quiet."

"Why wait for trouble?" growled Dieter, pulling off his scarf, and tying it round Weber's mouth. Once again, Weber had no choice but to submit, but the fury in his eyes as he looked at his former colleague made it clear that this indignity had been added to the account, and that sooner or later he was going to make someone pay.

At the end of one of the other tunnels, Mills paused to catch his breath. His injured shoulder meant he'd be slow getting up the ladder, so he'd sprinted most of the way here. Even so, he didn't have a lot of time, and he waited only a few seconds before he started climbing.

The good thing was, this was one of the shortest ladders in the entire network. The bad news was, the trapdoor at the top had a dog kennel built over it. He gripped the ladder with one hand, and raised the kennel just enough to look around. Only a couple of guards were in sight, and they weren't looking this way. Mills took a deep breath, and let go of the ladder so he could reach for the end of the piece of string which ran, covered by a thin layer of dirt, from the tunnel entrance to the gate of the dog enclosure, and up the gatepost to the latch. This was the quick-release, put in place for just such an emergency. A quick tug, and the cross-piece which held the gate closed fell off, allowing the gate to swing gently open.

In an ideal world, the dogs would have raced out instantly. Instead, they crowded round their visitor, curious at seeing a stranger, but disposed to be friendly towards anyone who smelled American.

"Aw, cut it out," muttered Mills. "Can't you guys be proper guard dogs for once? We need a diversion, get out there and divert. Hey, see the cat? Over there, by the main gate. Go get him."

They just stared at him in canine bewilderment, tongues out, tails wagging, anxious to understand. They were used to LeBeau, of course. Mills racked his brains for the equivalent French. "_Un chat - un grand chat noir avec...avec..._oh, never mind_. _Under the guard tower - there he is."

The dogs had recognized one word, at least, and as Mills pointed towards the gate, they took off, barking furiously. The guards raced after them, and Mills dropped back into the tunnel, clutching at the ladder to keep his balance. He'd done his part, and the goons would have their hands full for the next few minutes.

At the first sound of the commotion, Kinch went to the window at the back of the recreation hall, and looked out. The coast was clear, and he vaulted over the window ledge, and gestured to the others to follow.

From here, it was only a few yards to the barbed wire. One section of fence was engineered to slide up, as a quick way out of camp. It took barely a minute, before the entire party reached the cover of the woods beyond. Nobody spoke, however, until they'd gone some way in.

"What now, sarge?" asked Davis. This was his first assignment, and he was nervous, though eager enough.

Kinch, half-carrying Staller, shifted his hold slightly to provide more support. "You guys go in front. Do you know the way to the rendezvous point?"

"Sure thing," replied Davis. "It's straight on ahead, there's nowhere to turn off, anyway."

"Okay. Don't get too far ahead."

Davis and Dieter set off, with Weber held firmly between them. Kinch nodded to Wilson. "Stay close," he said quietly.

They traveled for some way, each group keeping within earshot of the other. But the further they went, the more Staller's footsteps began to lag, and the harsher his breathing, until he finally stumbled and half-fell. Kinch lowered him to the ground, and Wilson came quickly to check on him, drawing back the coat that hung loose over his arm. "Damn it, he's started bleeding again," he muttered. "Give me a hand, Kinch."

Davis, some distance further on, didn't realize there was a problem, until he became aware that he couldn't hear Staller's shuffling footsteps any more. He stopped in his tracks, bringing Weber to a halt. "I think we've gotten too far ahead," he whispered. "We better stop here till they catch up."

Dieter looked over his shoulder. "Would it not be better to keep moving? They will join us at the rendezvous place."

"Kinch said to stay close," Davis replied. "Maybe we ought to backtrack a way."

There was no immediate reply from Dieter. "Perhaps one of us could go back, and the other stay with this _Schwein_," he said at last.

"I don't think that's a good idea. We better stay together." Davis bit his lip, torn with uncertainty. He let go of Weber's arm, and took a few steps back along the path, searching for any sign of the other party.

He heard Dieter come up behind him, but he never expected the blow to the back of the neck that sent him down for the count, and beyond. Dieter stood over him for a moment, breathing hard. "_Es tut mir leid_," he murmured. Then he turned back to Weber, who was staring at him in astonishment. "You don't go back to England," he growled softly. "You die right here."

Weber's eyes widened, and he turned to run, but Dieter caught him before he got more than a few steps. "You deserve to be shot right now, like the dog you are," he went on, pressing the muzzle of his pistol against Weber's temple. "But Mills had it right. I can't kill you like this. That's what your people do."

He jerked Weber around, and untied the rope around his wrists. "On your knees," he ordered curtly. Then, as Weber didn't move, he spat out a curse, and shoved him to the ground. Weber fell full length, with a muffled cry, and lay sprawled in the path, but as Dieter stooped to drag him up, he twisted round with the agility of desperation, and jabbed his fingers into his captor's throat. Dieter choked, gagged and fell back, dropping the gun. The next moment Weber was on him, pinning him to the ground, with both hands around his throat.

He struggled, trying to break free, but Weber tightened his hold, until his victim lost consciousness. Even then, he kept squeezing for a few moments, before he finally relaxed. With a shaking hand he tore the scarf from his mouth, and drew in a couple of deep, painful breaths. Then he staggered to his feet, and picked up the gun Dieter had dropped, and without so much as a parting glance at the two prone bodies in the path, he headed off in the only possible direction: away from Stalag 13.


	41. Chapter 41

"Okay, I think that's got it," said Wilson. "Help him up, Kinch."

Receiving no reply, he sat back on his heels, and looked around. "Kinch?"

"Here." Kinch came back along the path. "Just checking. I told Davis not to get too far ahead of us, but I guess he doesn't know we had to stop. Is Staller ready to go on?"

"Yeah, but take it steady. Maybe we should have kept him for a couple of weeks."

Kinch didn't answer. He stooped to lift Staller to his feet, and set off, as quickly as the major was able to go.

"It's not a race, Kinch," said Wilson, after a couple of minutes.

"Yeah, I know," replied Kinch, but he didn't slow down. They had lost too much time already. Twilight had started to fall, and as this stretch of woods was particularly dense, it got dark quickly. But there was still enough light, as the path curved around, to make out the crumpled body sprawled across the path.

"Oh, Jesus," muttered Wilson, and started forward.

"Wilson!" hissed Kinch, but the medic paid no attention. He reached Davis' side in a few steps, and quickly checked his pulse.

"He's alive," he said.

"Yeah, and if the guy that left him like this had still been around, you could have gotten yourself shot," Kinch snapped back.

Wilson gave an irritable grunt. "He's got one hell of a lump on the back of his head, but I can't see any other injuries. Knocked out from behind, I guess."

Kinch lowered Staller to the ground. "Don't move from there," he said curtly. Then, pistol in hand, he moved slowly down the trail, keeping close to one side, alert to any sign of trouble. A low exclamation broke from him, as he spotted a second figure lying close to the trees. He dropped to one knee beside the man for a few seconds, then got up and went back to Wilson.

"Well, Dieter wasn't so lucky," he murmured. Then as Wilson started up, he added, "Don't bother. There's nothing you can do for him. Strangled, from the look of it. Damn it, how the hell did this happen?"

"Maybe Davis can tell us, when he comes to." Wilson had turned his attention back to his patient. "What about Weber?"

"No sign of him. He's long gone." Kinch surveyed the woods on either side. "He might have gone off the trail, but he wouldn't get far. The woods are knee deep in bog since the spring thaw, it's heavy going once you're off the path, and he's not in the best condition for it. He didn't come back this way, we'd have seen him, or heard him. My guess is, he'll try to reach the road, and go for help. What gets me is how he got loose in the first place."

"You think he had help?"

"Nobody outside camp knew we'd be here," replied Kinch. "But he sure couldn't have done it on his own."

"So that leaves - easy, Davis." Wilson's attention was diverted, as Davis gave a soft groan. "Just keep still for a minute, don't try to lift your head. Yeah, I know, it hurts. Can you open your eyes for me?"

Davis groaned again. "What happened?" he mumbled after a moment.

"You took a knock to the head, it sent you out for a minute. Do you remember how it happened?"

"I...uh..." Davis paused, blinking. His eyes went past the medic to focus on Kinch, and he tried to sit up, very unsteadily.

Wilson caught him before he fell over, and lowered him to the ground again. "Just take it easy for a couple of minutes. He's gonna fit right in with the rest of you," he added in a growled aside to Kinch. "Couldn't follow instructions if his life depended on it. Davis, look at me. Do you know where you are?"

Kinch left him to it, and moved away, scanning the forest again. "He can't have more than ten minutes on us," he murmured, half to himself.

"Guess you fouled up, right, sergeant?" remarked Staller.

"We'll get him back," said Kinch. He turned back to Wilson. "How bad is he?"

"Could be worse. He knows who he is, anyway," replied Wilson dourly.

"Sarge, I'm real sorry," said Davis unsteadily, trying to get up again. "I don't know what hit me."

"What do you remember?" asked Kinch.

"Uh...I couldn't hear you guys, so I said we should wait till you caught up." Davis closed his eyes, trying to think. "I was looking to see if you were coming...Dieter was behind me, he wanted to keep going... I don't know what happened next." He winced slightly, as if the effort of trying to remember was painful.

Kinch's jaw tightened, as he assessed the information. "Did you hear anything? Any kind of warning before you were hit?"

"Nothing. Whoever it was must have been real quiet."

"Or it was someone you already knew was there, and had no reason to be on your guard against," said Kinch grimly. "Anyone sneaking up on you would have had to take Dieter down first, and you'd have heard them. Unless it was Dieter who knocked you out."

Davis' eyes widened. "Dieter? But...but he's on our side."

"Maybe not as much as we thought." Kinch glanced at the dead man. "But it had to be him. Wilson, you better stay here with Davis. If you can, start back to camp with him. I'll go on, see if I can catch up with Weber before he makes the main road."

"You sure that's a good idea?" said Wilson. "What if he's left the trail after all?"

"Then I report to the colonel, and let him know what's going on," replied Kinch grimly. "It's got to be done, Wilson, and it can't wait till Davis is back on his feet. I'm not happy about splitting up, but I don't think there's any other option."

"I guess you're right. I can't think of any way round it, either. What about him?" Wilson jerked his head at Staller.

"He better stay as well," said Kinch. "You think you can handle him?"

"Sure. Just because I'm a medic, doesn't mean I won't shoot him if I have to," replied Wilson. He paused, then added quietly, "This isn't your fault, Kinch."

"Maybe. But it's still my responsibility," said Kinch.

He headed off, moving just off the trail into the cover of the trees, skirting the edge of the bog. Before he was even out of sight, Wilson had turned back to his patient. Staller watched through half-closed eyes, then turned his head a little, gazing in the direction taken by Kinch, and presumably Weber before him. Finally he looked back towards Wilson, indistinct in the half-light, apparently completely occupied. But at the first move, the medic spoke: "Settle down, Major."

Davis lifted his head again. "Let me up," he mumbled thickly. "I feel a bit..." He made another attempt to push himself up, in spite of Wilson's restraining hand. The movement made him light-headed, then sick, and for the next few minutes Wilson forgot everything except that he was a medic, with a potentially serious casualty on his hands. Only when Davis' sickness eased off, and he had been made as comfortable as the circumstances allowed, did Wilson spare a thought for his other charge.

"Well, Major, looks like...oh, nuts." He stared at the place where Staller had been, five minutes earlier. Then he stood up, and started down the path, but before he'd gone ten yards, he stopped, looking back at Davis, trying to reconcile two irreconcilable duties. Finally, he went back, and stooped over the injured man. "Davis, I'm going to have to leave you for a couple of minutes," he said softly. "We've lost Staller."

"You want I should come along?" murmured Davis, opening his eyes.

"You can't even stand up. You stay right there." Wilson hesitated for a moment longer before he set off in pursuit.

It didn't take him long to overtake Staller, who was still too weak to move fast. Within five minutes Wilson spotted him stumbling along at the edge of the trees. "Hold it right there," he called, quickening his own pace.

Staller came to a halt, and stood without saying a word, while Wilson caught up. "Nice try," he said irritably. "Now, turn around, and start walking."

"No." Staller rubbed his forehead, and swayed a little. "I'm going on. I'm to blame for...maybe I can help, somehow."

"Yeah, sure. You'll be real handy in a fight," Wilson growled. "Anyway, you think anyone's going to want your help, after you nearly killed Carter? Not a chance, pal."

Staller sighed. "I'm going on," he repeated stubbornly. "You can shoot me if you want, but I owe it to Carter." He started forward again, unsteady but determined.

"Oh, for crying out loud," muttered Wilson, grabbing his arm. "Sorry - look, even if I thought you were on the level, you're in no condition to be anything but a hindrance. We've got enough trouble with Weber out there on the loose." Staller shook him off, and set off again, without speaking.

Wilson raised his gun, hesitated, then lowered it again. He couldn't do it, after all. "Fine. I'll take you to the rendezvous point. After that you're Hogan's responsibility."

With no particular gentleness, he got Staller's uninjured arm over his shoulder and put his arm around the major's chest. "Okay, Major," he said. "You want to go on. Well, let's go."


	42. Chapter 42

The deepening twilight made Kinch's search a lot harder. He wove his way between the trees close to the path, every sense alert for any sign that Weber had left the trail. He couldn't risk using his flashlight, because it would give away his own location, and although he hadn't checked, some instinct warned him that Weber had taken Dieter's gun. But Kinch had one advantage. He knew his way around the woods, perhaps not as well as the other members of Hogan's team, but well enough to be sure of his way. Weber, unfamiliar with the area, risked losing his way if he strayed, which in his state of physical exhaustion was a strong possibility. If he did, he could find himself in real trouble, given the swampy ground hereabouts.

At every sound, Kinch paused, trying to assess whether the rustling amongst the undergrowth, or the splash from one of the deep pools of water, was Weber, or just some bird or animal of the forest, going about its business. It seemed to him that the woods had never been so full of activity as they were tonight. That didn't help.

He was just starting to wonder whether he'd somehow missed his quarry, when he heard what he'd been listening for. It was faint, and muffled by the thickness of the trees which lay between, but it was definitely human, a startled cry of distress.

_Damn it!_ thought Kinch. _He's well off the trail._

He hesitated briefly, weighing up the urgency of catching up with Weber before he got away against the real danger of getting himself lost, or bogged. But there was no choice. Weber already knew too much about their operation. Kinch straightened up, and started away from the path.

Of necessity now he had to use the flashlight, with a handkerchief wrapped around it to reduce the beam to a faint glow. The ground was soft and slippery with moss at first, but soon he was ankle deep in cold water, and he had to test every step.

A splash from somewhere close by brought him to a halt. He turned off the light, and moved to one side, but almost overbalanced as his foot stuck in the mud, then came loose with a faint noise of suction and a ripple of the water's surface. As he tried to regain his balance, his other foot slid out from under him.

And just at that moment, a pistol shot rang out.

* * *

Cecilie had gone to sleep in the back of the staff car, leaning against Carter's shoulder. He didn't seem at ease with the arrangement, but he shook his head when Hogan offered to take her instead.

Hammond was at the wheel, with LeBeau sitting beside him. The rest of Hogan's men had gone in the truck with Kurt to meet with the fugitives from Düsseldorf, and then to collect Newkirk's team and their prisoners from the Schmeckhausen road. But Hogan had come on ahead. He wanted to get Carter back to camp as quickly as possible.

"_Mon colonel_, how are you going to break it to Schultz that the truck isn't coming back?" asked LeBeau, breaking the silence.

Hogan smiled. "I'll think of something," he replied.

LeBeau and Hammond exchanged sly grins. They both knew what that meant. Schultz might want answers about the truck, but he wouldn't ask more than once.

Carter hadn't said a word, all the way from town. Hogan had left him to himself, but he kept a close watch on his explosives expert, relieved at what he was seeing. Carter was obviously weary, but his nervous tension had eased. He'd done well today, and he knew it.

"You okay, Carter?" murmured Hogan, as the rendezvous point came into sight.

"Uh-huh." Carter moved a little, carefully so as not to disturb Cecilie.

The car came to a stop at the edge of the road. Hogan took a good look around before he got out. There was no sign of Kinch's team yet, but they probably weren't far away.

He turned back to the car. "LeBeau, you and Carter better start back," he said. "Get him home, and into his own uniform, but don't let him fall asleep yet. Remember, Schultz thinks you two escaped, we have to set him straight before we can call it a night."

"_Oui, colonel_," replied LeBeau, as he stepped out onto the grass at the edge of the road.

Carter was trying to get out without waking Cecilie, but as soon as he moved, she raised her head, blinking, a confused murmur on her lips.

"Easy, Cecilie," said Hogan, leaning in to lift her from Carter's shoulder. "We're at the rendezvous point."

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "Is he...are your people here?"

"Not yet." Hogan nodded to Carter, who slid out of the car. "They should get here pretty soon, but we'll have a wait before the truck gets here, and then you've got a day's drive to the coast. Weber's going to be with you. Can you handle that?"

Cecilie sighed. "What choice do I have?" She glanced out at Carter. "You and your men risked your lives for me. If I cannot put my own feelings aside until we reach England, then all you have done is for nothing."

"That's the spirit," Hogan said. "Anyway, we owed you, for the work you've done. Now..."

He broke off abruptly, and turned his head, aware without looking that LeBeau and Hammond also had tensed at the sound of a gunshot, from deep in the woods.

"Something's gone wrong," muttered Carter.

Hogan had already drawn his gun. "LeBeau, Carter, you stay here. Don't move from this spot. Hammond, with me."

The shot seemed to have come from somewhere in the woods, considerably to the south of the trail, but close to the road which led back to Hammelburg. If so, the road would be the quickest way to get there. Hogan set off, fast, with Hammond close behind him.

It might have nothing to do with Kinch's team, but it wasn't likely anyone else would be hanging around this waterlogged stretch of the woods, unless the guards from Stalag 13 had decided to run a patrol up this way. But only one shot had been fired. The goons would have sprayed the entire woods with lead.

Either way, Carter was right. Something had gone wrong.

A quarter of a mile along the road, Hogan stopped, listening. Then he nodded to Hammond, and pointed towards the forest, with a gesture to indicate Hammond should make his way around to get behind whoever was in there. As Hammond disappeared into the darkness, Hogan moved in, circling round in the other direction.

The ground was soft and slippery under his feet, and by instinct he kept close to the trees, where the massive spread of roots gave him a foothold. He advanced slowly, aware that anyone, friend or foe, might be hidden in the dense, heavy dimness.

Three or four minutes passed, then a couple more, with no sign of anyone.

Then came a shout, from somewhere ahead: "Stop there! I've got you covered!" It sounded like Hammond. Hogan abandoned caution, and plunged forward.

Something moved among the trees, darting from shadow to shadow. Hogan skidded to a halt, and drew back against the nearest tree trunk. "Hold it, or I'll open fire," he called.

"Colonel Hogan? Is that you?"

"Kinch!" Hogan lowered his gun, and moved forward, as Kinch appeared, stumbling a little, his left hand pressed against his right shoulder. "What's going on? Are you hurt?"

"Just a scratch," Kinch panted. "Sorry, Colonel, Weber's escaped."

"How? No, never mind that now." Hogan dismissed the query as soon as he'd asked it. He'd be demanding answers later, but for now he had other concerns. "Where are the rest of your team?"

"Back towards camp, about a half mile," replied Kinch. He rested his uninjured shoulder against the tree Hogan had been hiding behind. "Davis got a bad concussion, so I told Wilson to stay with him and Staller."

"What about Dieter?" said Hogan.

"Uh, yeah. Dieter's dead, Colonel." Kinch's voice sounded strained, but that could have been the discomfort of the flesh wound in his shoulder.

Hogan swore softly. "Have you got any idea where Weber is?"

"I lost sight of him, but I'm pretty sure he doubled back this way."

They both tensed, sensing movement from a few feet away. But it was Hammond who appeared. "Nothing, Colonel," he said. "You want to go further?"

"No," said Hogan. "We could lose hours trying to find him in these woods. If Kinch is right, he's headed back the way we just came. We'd better head back that way, and try to pick up his trail."

"And if we don't, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

"In that case, we get everyone back to camp, as fast as possible," replied Hogan grimly. "If Weber's going to bring the Gestapo down on us, we have to be ready for them."

* * *

"Calm down, Carter," said LeBeau. "Whatever has happened, we will deal with it."

"What if we can't?" Carter was walking back and forth in restless agitation. "What if something's happened? Maybe he got hold of a gun. Maybe he shot someone. You don't know the guy, LeBeau. There's nothing he'd stick at."

"You mean Weber? Or Staller?"

"Yeah, Staller, too. Either of 'em."

"André..."

LeBeau didn't finish the sentence. He turned his head, searching the forest, then moved back towards the car, signing to Carter and Cecilie to take cover. He'd drawn his gun without even thinking about it, and as soon as he was behind the car he lined up, covering the trail from Stalag 13. Carter, at the other end of the car, had done the same.

Ten seconds passed. Fifteen. Then two men came into sight. LeBeau tensed, but relaxed almost at once. "Wilson! _Qu'est-ce qui se passe_?"

"English, LeBeau," replied the medic irritably. He lowered Staller to the ground, close to the rear wheel of the car. "But if you're asking what's going on, well, it ain't good news. You, stay right there," he added, pointing a finger at Staller.

"Where's Kinch?" Carter had emerged from behind the car, still holding his pistol. "Didn't you stay together?"

"There was some trouble," said Wilson.

Carter's eyes turned at once to Staller. "What did you do?"

Staller shook his head, but it was Wilson who replied: "It wasn't him, Carter. Dieter and Davis had charge of Weber, they got ahead of us. Somehow, Weber got loose. Kinch went after him. Where's Colonel Hogan?"

"There was a gunshot, a few minutes ago," said LeBeau. "He went to check it out."

"Yeah, I heard it," snapped Wilson. "But I was stuck with our friend here, so I couldn't do anything about it."

Carter gave an unintelligible exclamation and turned away, and Wilson frowned. "What's with him?" he asked LeBeau, in a low voice.

LeBeau held out his hands. "No idea. What about him?" He jerked his head towards Staller.

"His wound opened up again, but he insisted on coming along. Short of shooting him, I couldn't stop him," growled Wilson, his expression suggesting that he was reconsidering that alternative.

Carter heard the murmur of their voices, but he paid no attention. All he was aware of was the sick feeling in his gut, and the trembling of his hands. He took a couple of deep breaths, and turned around. Staller was watching him, but as he met Carter's eye, he looked away, towards the trees. For a moment, Carter had to fight an urge to have it out with the guy, right then and there, and make him admit he'd been in it with Weber all along. He tightened his grip on the gun, and turned his back on the major.

A few seconds later, Staller gave a shout, and launched himself forward, tackling Carter around the knees and bringing him down. LeBeau swore in French, and started forward, then threw himself down, as the passenger-side window of the car shattered.

Carter, for once almost beside himself with fury, had kicked free of Staller's grip. He heard a warning cry from LeBeau as he started scrambling to his feet. He ducked, just as Staller pushed himself up from the ground. Then a second shot rang out, and Staller dropped again, without making a sound.

LeBeau, from underneath the car, sent a couple of shots into the darkness. Carter had dropped his weapon, and had no idea where it was. He crouched low, trying to see where the gunman was hiding.

A movement in the undergrowth drew LeBeau's fire, and Carter, without stopping to think, took a flying leap over the prostrate Staller, and hurled himself at the shadowy figure. The impact carried both men further into the woods, their impetus halted only when they cannoned into a tree trunk.

The gunman broke free. "Carter, you son of a bitch!" he hissed.

Before he could rally, Carter went for him again, fighting by pure instinct. The two men grappled for a few seconds, then Weber managed to get an arm free. He slewed round, pushed Carter back against the tree, and grabbed him by the throat.

Carter couldn't breathe. He tried to break Weber's grip, without success, then reached out, blind in the darkness, trying to find his enemy's face.

He heard LeBeau, shouting somewhere in the distance, almost drowned out by the pounding of his own pulse in his ears, and he tried to call out. _Louis? Louis, help me! _But he couldn't get the words past that relentless pressure. His heart felt like it was about to burst.

"Let him go."

He didn't recognize the voice at first, he was too overwhelmed by his physical distress. But he knew at once he was safe, even before the tight band around his throat suddenly released. He fell, with his back against the tree, dragging in lungfuls of air. As his eyesight cleared, he realized that the gloom of night had been dispelled by flashlight. He blinked, and looked around, until he found his rescuer.

And Hogan met his gaze, and smiled. "Okay, Carter," he said. "We've got him. It's over."


	43. Chapter 43

"Hey, Newkirk, I think there were a couple of potholes you missed. Any chance we could go back and have another go?" said Adams, poking his head through the canvas flap which separated the back of the truck from the cabin.

"Give over," growled Newkirk, without taking his eyes off the road. "Or get out and walk. I don't mind either way. Matter of fact, we'll get there faster if we lose some weight back there."

"We could always dump the Krauts in the nearest ditch," said Kellet, who was wedged between Newkirk and O'Brien in the front. "That fat guy's been giving me the stink-eye ever since we nabbed him."

Newkirk uttered a sarcastic laugh. "Kellet, if everyone who gave you a nasty look got chucked in a ditch, we'd have half of Stalag 13 up to their arses in mud."

The truck bumped over a groove in the road surface, and a chorus of complaints issued from the men in the back, eliciting an irritable response from Newkirk: "All right, settle down. We're almost there."

He glanced in the side mirror, checking whether Kurt's car was still following. They had managed to fit six men into the Opel, but even so, the truck was overloaded. The motor had struggled on the slightest upward incline, and Newkirk, fully aware of the disaster that would result from taking a bend too fast, drove with uncharacteristic caution, not that he received any thanks for it.

"I'll be glad when this little excursion's over," he muttered.

The road descended, winding through the forest which gradually got denser, until finally the staff car came into sight. "What the blazes...?" murmured Newkirk.

Something was wrong. The car's headlights were on full beam, illuminating the sturdy form of Wilson, who, with the girl Cecilie in attendance, was crouched over a body lying prostrate on the rough grass between the road and the trees. There was nobody else in sight. From this distance, Newkirk couldn't tell who the casualty was, but he felt his heart rate speed up uncomfortably. He brought the truck to a sudden halt with no consideration for the comfort of his passengers, and was out of the cabin before anyone could protest.

"What happened?" he demanded roughly. "Where's Colonel Hogan?"

"Weber got away," replied Wilson, without looking up. "Colonel's gone after him."

"Which way?"

Wilson sighed. "Forget it, Newkirk. There's enough guys running around in the woods already without the rest of you joining in. Okay, major, take it easy."

The injured man had given voice to a low groan. Newkirk couldn't help feeling relieved to discover it was Staller. "What's his problem?" he asked.

"Shot in the back."

The other men were descending from the truck, and from Kurt's little car. The Underground leader came to join Newkirk. "Trouble?"

"Looks like it. You better have those lads from Düsseldorf ready to go. You too, Cecilie," said Newkirk, with a glance at the girl who was holding a makeshift pad over Staller's wound while Wilson tried to strap it into place with strips torn from the major's shirt. "Where's Dieter? Is he off after our friend as well?"

Wilson shot him a quick glance. "Dieter's dead," he said.

Kurt swore under his breath. "How?"

"That's a good question," replied the medic. "You'll have to ask - well, speak of the devil."

A little group of men had emerged from the forest. LeBeau and Hammond came first, holding a surly Weber between them. Kinch was just behind them, then Carter, stumbling a little but managing under his own steam, and Hogan brought up the rear.

Newkirk hurried forward, then stopped, unable to decide whether Kinch or Carter needed help the most. But Carter settled the matter, pushing past him, going straight to where Staller was lying. For a few moments he stared at the major, then he turned away, went back towards the trees, and abruptly sat down on the ground.

Hogan dropped on one knee beside Wilson. "How bad is it?"

"Well, he won't be getting on the truck," replied Wilson, without looking up.

Staller was still breathing, shallow, harsh breaths interspersed with gasping moans. "Is he conscious?" asked Hogan.

"In and out."

Apparently, Staller heard Hogan's voice. His eyelids flickered open, and he uttered what sounded like an attempt to speak. "Easy, now, major," said Wilson.

"Where..." It was scarcely above a whisper. Then Staller made an extra effort, and forced the question out: "Where's Carter?"

"He's here." Hogan glanced in Carter's direction.

Staller smiled faintly, and closed his eyes again.

"He probably saved Carter's life, Colonel," remarked Wilson quietly. "Weber took at least two shots at him."

Before Hogan could respond, Kurt came up, his expression serious. "Colonel Hogan, is it true about Dieter?"

"I'm afraid so," said Hogan, standing up. "I'm don't know the story yet, but obviously Weber's even more trouble than we thought."

He glanced at the Underground men from Düsseldorf. They looked tough enough, dressed in the SS uniforms confiscated from Eisner's men. "Can they handle five prisoners between them?"

The three men laughed grimly. "We have the guns, Colonel," one of them said. "And none of us would hesitate to use them. Nor would Cecilie."

The girl had risen to her feet, her eyes fixed on Weber. One look at her, and Hogan had no doubt. She would shoot, if she had to.

"Okay, get him on the truck, and get going," said Hogan. "You've got a long drive ahead of you."

"What about him?" asked Kurt, jerking his chin at Staller.

"He'll have to stay behind, for now," replied Hogan.

He stepped forward, as the Düsseldorf men escorted Weber towards the truck. "Hold it. Tell me something, Weber. How'd you get loose?"

Weber glared at him. "Figure it out for yourself, _Schweine_."

Hogan hadn't really expected anything else, but it had been worth a try. But Weber hadn't finished. A gleam of pure spite kindled in his eyes, the cruel malice of a man who believed he had nothing left to lose. "Aren't you going to ask about Carter? That was just business. I had a job to do, he got in the way."

"Get him out of here," said Hogan in a low voice, and turned away. Weber was manhandled into the truck. Two of the Underground men climbed into the back, the third got behind the steering wheel.

Cecilie lingered for a moment. "Thank you, Colonel," she said. "If you and your people had not helped us..." She glanced at Carter. "That man especially. Please thank him for me."

"I'll do that. Go on, your ride's waiting."

She held out her hand, and he gripped it for a moment. Then she ran to the truck. Hogan watched as it jerked into motion, and trundled out of sight.

"What did Weber mean by that, Colonel?" asked Newkirk. He had been standing just behind Hogan, and must have heard Weber's last shot.

Hogan tried to think of an answer, but LeBeau, in all innocence, saved him the trouble. "Isn't it obvious? He just tried to strangle Carter, and before that he almost shot him. _Espèce de salaud_!"

It was sufficient explanation for now. Hogan left it at that, and turned his attention to Kurt. "You'd better get back to town, before you're missed."

"Is there nothing else I can help with?"

"I don't think so," said Hogan. "Our part's done, almost." He frowned slightly as he looked at Staller.

Kurt seemed to follow his thoughts. "If we can get him to Hammelburg, perhaps we might be able to find a doctor who would treat him without notifying the authorities."

But Hogan, reading the look on Wilson's face, shook his head. "I don't think that's an option, Kurt. We'll deal with it."

"As you wish," said Kurt. "Good luck."

He returned to his car, and drove away, while Hogan turned his attention to the prisoners still standing round, in their various uniforms of SS and Luftwaffe. "Okay, back to camp. Don't all go at once, we don't want to make it too easy for the guards. Groups of two or three, a few minutes apart. Newkirk and LeBeau, you stay here. I'll need you, later."

"You'll find Davis back along the path a way," Wilson put in over his shoulder. "He's got concussion, so don't try to move him till I get there."

"Wilson, can you spare a moment to look at Kinch's shoulder?" said Hogan. "One of Weber's shots grazed him."

"Sure. Can't do much more here," replied Wilson. But his curtness didn't fool anyone.

Staller appeared to be drowsing, but he stirred as the medic moved away and Hogan took his place. "What...what happened? " His voice slurred over the words, and he blinked, and turned his head slightly.

"Just take it easy," said Hogan. "You took a bullet, remember?"

"Uh...yeah..." Staller moved, as if he was trying to find the strength to push himself upright. The effort drew a sharp, pained gasp, and Hogan put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.

"You'd better keep still, major," he said, in an even, steady tone. It must have been reassuring, because Staller's restlessness eased off, and after a minute he sank back into unconsciousness.

Hogan looked around. The men were gradually dispersing, in small groups as ordered, except for Newkirk and LeBeau. Those two, in the absence of further orders, had gravitated towards Carter, who remained where he had dropped, a few feet from Staller.

Wilson finished with Kinch. "Yeah, you're right, it's just a scratch. Take it slow going back to camp," he said gruffly. "You guys, keep an eye on him."

Kinch glanced at Hogan, who nodded. There was nothing a wounded man could do here, even if the injury was minor. Reluctantly, with O'Brien and Hammond in attendance, he set off for Stalag 13.

Wilson had come back to where Staller was lying. "It's not too serious," he told Hogan. "But he'll have to take it easy for a couple of weeks. You want me to take a look at Carter before he heads back?"

Carter spoke up for himself. "I'm fine, Wilson." Perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from near strangulation, his voice sounded hoarser than usual.

"Maybe, but it can't hurt," said Hogan. "It's an order, Carter. And afterwards you can head for home with the others." He nodded towards Adams and Kellet, the last to go.

"Is Carter still here?" The question came in a confused mumble from Staller, who had roused up again. "I...I want to talk to him."

"Not a good idea right now, Staller," said Hogan, with a glance at Carter, who shook his head slightly, staring at Staller with narrowed eyes and pinched lips.

Somehow, Staller found the strength to lift his hand and grasp Hogan's arm. "You said...back at Stalag 13...said I could talk to him. Three minutes." He broke off, breathless, then made an extra effort. "Sending me back to London...last chance...please..."

"Major, you're not - " Wilson broke off abruptly, at the look he got from Hogan. "I'll go and look at Carter," he finished up.

It didn't take long for him to make a quick assessment. "You're going to have some spectacular bruises in the next couple of days," he remarked, peering at the marks Weber's fingers had left on Carter's neck. "But I don't think there's permanent damage."

"Uh-huh," muttered Carter. He was still gazing at Staller, his hostile, closed expression gradually giving way under the weight of uncertainty.

For a few seconds nobody spoke. Kellet fidgeted, Adams cleared his throat, Newkirk frowned slightly as his eyes moved from Carter to Staller and back again.

"Thanks, Wilson," said Hogan. "You better head back with the other guys."

Wilson's eyes turned instinctively to Staller. "But..."

The objection never even got off the ground. "You've done all you can here," said Hogan. "Go and see to Davis, and then get back to camp. I'll look after Staller."

"What about Carter?" asked LeBeau. "Shouldn't he go as well?"

Hogan glanced at Carter. "It's up to him."

Wilson gave an irritable grunt, but at a look from Hogan he subsided. Carter didn't say anything, nor did he seem to be thinking of leaving. Wilson hung around for a few seconds longer, then with obvious reluctance followed Kellet and Adams on the path back to camp. Their departure left Hogan with just his first string team.

"Newkirk, you and LeBeau get the staff car off the road," he said. "Take it down the road a bit, so you don't get bogged. And before you leave it, make sure we haven't left anything in it that can be traced back to Stalag 13."

"That's not really a two-man job, Colonel," Newkirk pointed out. "You don't think one of us should stay here in case there's any trouble?"

"No, there's no need. Get going." It was clearly an order, and delivered in a tone of voice his men knew well. Newkirk muttered under his breath, and stalked over to the car, with LeBeau just behind him.

The vehicle took off, and the low growl of its motor softened into distance. Hogan was left with just Carter and Staller, and the prospect of a conversation he wasn't sure he should even allow to happen. He didn't know what the major wanted so desperately to say, but he knew one thing, with absolute certainty.

Staller might have saved Carter's life tonight, but it didn't cancel out the past. Even if he was dying, Hogan wouldn't let him inflict any further grief.


	44. Chapter 44

"Why'd he have to go and do that?" said Carter.

Exhaustion, shock and mental confusion had reduced his voice to a husky murmur, but Hogan had no trouble hearing him. Unfortunately, he had no answer to that question.

"I thought I had him figured out," Carter went on. He hadn't moved any closer to the wounded Staller, but he hadn't taken his eyes off the man who, a few days ago, had almost killed him, and who just now had taken a bullet for him. "Now I don't know what I'm supposed to think. I got no idea."

"It makes sense, Carter," said Hogan. "But only if we assume that he was telling the truth when he said he didn't know about Weber, and that he never meant for you to get hurt." He looked down at Staller, who had drifted off into an uneasy stupor. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and his skin glistened with a sick pallor.

Perhaps the subdued exchange somehow reached his consciousness. He gasped, and his eyes opened. For a few seconds he stared at Hogan.

"Sorry. I was...don't know where I was," he mumbled, and stretched out one hand, very weakly, as if he was trying to find something to hold on to in case he slipped away.

"Easy, major," said Hogan. "Don't exert yourself."

"I...oh, I remember." Staller's voice got stronger. "I have to...where's Carter?"

"He's here."

"Where?" Staller turned his head slightly, screwing up his eyes and peering into the dimness. Hogan gestured to Carter, who with obvious reluctance came closer.

"What d'you want?" he said curtly.

Staller gazed at him, blinking as he tried to focus. "You okay?"

"Fine." It was pretty clear, Carter wasn't yet prepared to give an inch, but the brusqueness of his tone was belied by the uncertainty in his eyes, and the twitching of his lips.

With a soft, almost inaudible sigh, Staller closed his eyes again, and for several minutes, the only sound was his breathing, which was gradually slowing and thickening. Hogan, watching the signs of internal debate which flickered across Carter's face, was in two minds about pulling the pin on the whole business. Carter had already had about as much as he could cope with tonight.

Presently, Staller roused up again, uttering a confused jumble of disconnected syllables which trailed off as he realized where he was. "Is it time to go?" he asked, after a few seconds.

"Not yet," said Hogan. "Don't worry about it. Just take it easy."

"Can't. I have to..." Staller's head turned restlessly until he found Carter. "I..uh...those things I said...they weren't true."

"I know that," said Carter. He wasn't looking at Staller now, and even avoided meeting Hogan's regard. "It doesn't matter now, anyway."

"It matters. You didn't get a fair hearing." Staller fell silent. He didn't seem to be in a lot of pain, and his mental disorientation had apparently cleared, although he was very weak. He kept his eyes on Carter, and there was a humble, almost pleading expression on his face which moved Hogan in spite of himself.

Carter seemed unaware of it. He shrugged, and brushed the words aside. "Well, it can't be changed now."

Staller hesitated. "Maybe I can fix it. Maybe when I get back to London...if I talk to the brass...tell them it wasn't your fault..."

"No!" Carter rounded on him at once. "Don't you even think about telling anyone. If you do..."

For a moment, he forgot just how serious Staller's wound was, and that London was no longer a possibility. In the face of his sudden anger, Staller fell back, and his breath shortened again. Hogan intervened quickly. "Steady, Carter. I don't think that's what he meant."

Carter flushed, and drew back again, and for another minute there was silence. Then Staller, with an effort, spoke again, to Hogan this time. "I don't want to make more trouble...enough of that already."

"I know, Staller," replied Hogan.

"Just want to make things right," Staller went on, just above a whisper. "His service record...loss of rank...shouldn't have done it. He didn't deserve that, on top of..."

Hogan cut him off. "Okay, major, I get it. But it's done. You know, and I know, and Carter knows that the court martial finding was a gross miscarriage of justice, and I'm glad you understand enough to feel bad about your part in it, but any attempt to correct the record now is only going to make things worse."

A faint laugh escaped Staller's lips, and for a few seconds he seemed to recapture some faint, fleeting essence of the easy confidence which he'd demonstrated when Hogan first met him. "I'll think of something...come up with a story...it's what I'm good at, right?"

"Yeah, you're the man for that," said Hogan. He paused for a moment, wondering whether he should break it to Staller that he wasn't going home. Carter's eyes, wide and serious, held the same question. But Staller was apparently oblivious.

"It's just...I made a mistake...caused a lot of trouble," the major went on. "Can't fix most of it. Don't know what they'll do with me - court martial, dishonorable discharge, jail time...guess I can't get out of it, and I won't try. Got it coming, right? But if I can put one thing right - get Carter his lieutenancy back - get his record cleared..."

"Like anyone cares about that," Carter broke out suddenly. "If that's on your mind, well, you can just forget about it, 'cause that's not down to you. That was probably a done deal, way before you got involved."

"Carter's right, Staller," said Hogan. "Whether you took a hand or not, chances are Carter was going to take the fall for what happened, one way or another. So stop beating yourself up over it. I can't say I approve of what you did, but the court martial was a foregone conclusion. I don't think it'll benefit Carter any to rock the boat now."

There was a look of puzzled bewilderment on Staller's face as he took that in. "Yeah...I guess..." he muttered. "All the same..." His voice trailed off again. This time the break in conversation lasted several minutes.

The erratic gleam of a flashlight came into sight from down the road, indicating the return of Newkirk and LeBeau. But Hogan's first movement, as he started to his feet, brought Staller back round again. "What...oh, it's you," he whispered. "I must have been dreaming...thought I was somewhere else. There was this nurse, at the hospital...Carter, you remember? Blonde, with the bluest eyes. Funny the things you dream about, right?"

Carter's bewilderment was obvious. But after a quick glance at Hogan for reassurance, he nodded. "Yeah. I remember."

"If I'd stayed talking to her, instead of coming up to talk to you..." Staller's breathing was getting ever harsher, and he had to stop for a moment. "Maybe some things wouldn't have been said. And I'm sorry about that...always been sorry."

"Uh-huh."

"I..uh...it's a lot to ask..." Staller swallowed hard. There was almost no color in his face now, and he seemed to have to search for every word. "But if...one day, maybe...if you ever think...you can forgive me for that...let me know, huh?"

"Okay," said Carter. "Yeah, I'll do that, if it ever happens."

Staller smiled faintly, and his eyes closed, but the rise and fall of his chest continued, as Hogan stood up, and went to meet the others.

"Not over yet, then?" said Newkirk. His tone was dour, and his expression uncompromising, but Hogan wasn't fooled. Nobody was happy about this.

"Not yet," he replied. "He hasn't got long, though."

"How will we deal with it, _mon colonel_?" asked LeBeau.

For a few moments, Hogan didn't answer. He was looking at Carter again, watching the shifting expressions which betrayed his inner turmoil. Then Carter's face cleared, as he came to a decision. He edged a little closer to Staller, bent over him, and murmured a couple of words. Hogan couldn't hear them, but he was prepared to make a guess. Even if it was just lip service, somehow Carter had found it in him to tell Staller what he so desperately wanted to hear, before it was too late.

Hogan drew a deep breath. "We'll deal with it the same way we deal with any man who falls in the line of duty," he replied. "Whatever else Staller did, let's not forget he saved Carter's life tonight. So we'll take him back to Stalag 13, and arrange a decent burial."

To his relief, he sensed no opposition from his men. Whether they'd discussed the matter while disposing of the staff car, or whether each had come independently to the same conclusion, they were in agreement.

Staller might not have earned complete forgiveness, but that one moment of reparation was enough for now.


	45. Chapter 45

"See, Carter? As good as new."

LeBeau had practically dragged Carter down to the lab, talking volubly all the while. It was the first time in almost a month that anyone had managed to even get Carter down there. In every other way, he seemed okay, better in fact than he had been for some time, and Hogan had started letting him take part in most aspects of the operation. But he didn't go to the lab. Instead he had set himself up in one of the side tunnels, a low, cramped, unventilated space with poor lighting and a constant presence of moisture on the walls. It was not an ideal working environment.

Finally, his buddies decided enough was enough, and they set about cleaning up the mess in the lab themselves. Once they'd gotten it into order, LeBeau went to bring him along, while Mills gave the floor a final sweep, Kinch went round one more time to inspect the new roof supports, and Newkirk dusted the jars of chemicals they'd smuggled in to replace what had been destroyed. Then they waited to see how he'd react.

They'd done a good job of it, too. It wasn't quite the same as it had been, but it looked like a working chemistry lab.

"Gee," he said, stopping dead in the entrance. Then, unable to think of anything else, he said it again.

"See, now you don't have to make do with that little hole off Tunnel 6," Newkirk pointed out. "It's not healthy down there. This is much better."

"Yeah. It sure is," mumbled Carter. He looked dazed, as if the surprise was too much for him.

"We had to replace the workbench," added Kinch. "It just wasn't fixable. But this one's nearly the same."

"What do you think, André? Do you like it?" LeBeau looked up at him, a slight, anxious frown on his face as he took in Carter's lack of response.

"Sure." Carter looked around slowly. "Sure. It's just great. Boy, I was feeling sick about it, I thought I'd never get it straight. Thanks. Thanks heaps."

He turned his head, as Hogan came into the lab. "Did you see what the guys did, Colonel?"

"I did," replied Hogan, with a grin. "I had a hand in it. See that shelf that's not quite straight? I put that one up." He finished with an air of innocent pride which cracked up the entire team.

"We weren't quite sure how you like your stuff organized," Kinch put in. "So if you want us to rearrange everything..."

"No, that's okay. I can do that," said Carter quickly. "I know how I want it."

It was clear he wanted to do it right away, and they left him to it, gradually drifting away to other duties, until finally he was alone, pottering about in his lab. The guys meant well, but nothing was where it belonged. The sooner he fixed it, the sooner he could forget it had ever been wrecked, and from there it wouldn't be long before he could start pretending the whole thing - Staller, Weber, everything - had never happened.

They had buried Staller in a corner of the woods, not far from Stalag 13. Dieter was there, too, in spite of the part he must have played in Weber's escape. Whatever that had been would never be known, and Hogan had decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. His friends from Düsseldorf had reached England safely, and Weber was in the hands of the intelligence service. He might talk, eventually, but Hogan and his men would hear nothing of that. Carter didn't even want to think about it. Somehow, Weber didn't matter so much any more. He was just a dirty Kraut, as rotten as any of them. Staller was a different matter, and Carter was still struggling to reconcile what he'd done on that night with everything that had gone before. In a way, he almost resented Staller's final act of heroism. He didn't want to owe that guy anything.

It didn't take long to get the jars of chemicals, all labelled in Kinch's neat hand, organized to his satisfaction. The equipment - flasks, beakers, retorts, and his collection of spirit burners - took longer. Somehow, no matter how he arranged them, he always ended up with a couple of stray items and no shelf space for them. Finally he managed to get everything packed in, save for a single crucible, blackened, cracked and with a couple of deep chips in the rim.

He stood holding it, a slight frown on his face. There were a couple of new crucibles amongst the other kit, which his buddies had obtained from goodness only knew where. This one had to be one of the old ones, maybe the only breakable thing which had survived the explosion.

Carter sat down on the new stool the guys had provided, studying his find. From a practical point of view, it had too much damage to be of any use, but the weight of it felt familiar in his hand, like an old, trusted friend.

"Nearly finished?"

He looked up, startled. Hogan was standing in the entrance, regarding him with a smile, and a hint of anxiety in his eyes.

"Just about," said Carter, putting the crucible down. "I guess the fellers must have found this when they started cleaning up. Probably should have just thrown it away with everything else. It's cracked right through, it might just break in half any time, so it's not good for much any more."

"I wouldn't say that." Hogan came in and half-sat on the workbench. He picked up the little bowl, and turned it round. "It looks okay to me. A little knocked about, maybe, but that just gives it character, right?"

Carter peered up at him, slightly perplexed. "Well, if you can think of a use for it, Colonel, you go ahead and keep it."

"I might just do that." Hogan glanced around. "Happy with the renovation job?"

"Yeah, it's okay." Too late, Carter realized how offhand that sounded, and tried to qualify his response. "I mean, it's perfect. I mean, it's not just exactly the same as it was..."

"You're telling me," said Hogan, shifting his position slightly. "Didn't the old worktable have rounded corners?"

Carter ploughed on regardless. "...but just because it's different, doesn't mean I don't like it. You know the old saying, a change is as good as a holiday. I mean..well, that's not what I mean, but...but..."

"Okay, Carter, I get it," interrupted Hogan, to save him from further embarrassment. "It's not your old lab. But you'll get used to it."

Carter nodded, and ran his hand across the unfamiliar surface of the new workbench. "I guess so."

For a minute or so, neither of them spoke.

"What's on your mind, Carter?" said Hogan at last.

"Nothing." But Carter reddened, and didn't meet his eyes. After a moment, he added vehemently, "Boy, I must be about the meanest guy around."

Hogan turned a startled gaze on him. "Since when?"

Carter scowled, and kicked the leg of the new workbench. "It's just not fair. All that stuff Staller did, and blowing up the lab, and...and everything, and then just because he went and got himself killed, I have to forget about it? Well, I just can't, that's all." He finished abruptly, and fell silent, twisting his fingers together.

"Carter, nobody expects you to forget about it," said Hogan. "Staller put you through the wringer, and one good deed doesn't cancel that out. And if you're still bitter about it, well, I don't think anyone's going to think the worse of you for it."

"Except for me," mumbled Carter.

Hogan shrugged. "Well, that's something you'll have to square up with your own conscience. Or let it go. After all, it can't make a difference to Staller now. The only person it matters to is you." He let Carter think about it for a moment, then clapped him on the shoulder. "What say we throw a bit of a lab-warming party?"

"How do you mean, Colonel?" Carter gazed at him, relieved at the change of subject, but puzzled by the new idea.

"We've got a new assignment from London," explained Hogan. "They're dropping in a team of commandos to take out the heavy armaments factory west of Hammelburg. What they need is a diversion to draw off the SS troops guarding the place. Now, there's a power plant, half a mile up the road from the factory. If there happened to be an explosion there, I reckon that'd do the job. You think you can come up with something that'll make a big flash, and plenty of noise and smoke?"

Carter didn't answer at once. He looked around at the rows of jars, his imagination already forming compounds and assessing reactions. This was what he did, what he was here for. It wasn't the same as the old lab, but it would do. As for Staller, well, maybe one day he'd be able to forgive the guy. But he wouldn't worry about that for now.

Hogan was waiting for an answer. And Carter, with a gleam of anticipation, was ready to tell him what he wanted to hear: "You bet I can, Colonel."


End file.
